


Winter's Mind

by SSCEJM4A



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Eventual Romance, F/M, Minor Violence, Past Torture, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 11:36:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 90,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20209090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SSCEJM4A/pseuds/SSCEJM4A
Summary: A POST Civil War, PRE Black Panther (pre the wonderful Shuri) story I wrote, starting in 2016 and finally finished. I wanted to write a story that gave Bucky the happiness he deserves. Hope you enjoy!





	1. Chapter 1

Working with one of the most brilliant minds in psychiatry had its pluses and minuses, as most jobs do, but it always seemed to you that they were exacerbated by your boss’ quirky nature and his need to work hours on end. You’d studied to become a psychologist, and were just months away from opening your own practice, when Dr. Bachman found you. 

He’d gotten your name from one of your professors, a Dr. Chaney, who had made your life a living hell, during all four years at Stanford. You were shocked to find out that he had actually recommended you, and after some wooing by Dr. Bachman, you’d accepted the position as his assistant.

It wasn’t the kind of assistant that most people think of. There was no typing up letters or emails. There was no need to fetch coffee. In fact, he was the one who usually brought you Starbuck’s each morning. No. He recruited you for your mind. He needed someone he could bounce ideas off of and press for answers, when his mind refused to hand them over. You were, in a way, his grounding wire. You kept him from losing focus. Even at just 45 years of age, he was almost completely gray-headed, and you often teased him that the gray hairs represented the amount of times he chased rabbits.

Still. He was brilliant. He could squeeze blood from a turnip. He could coax the most terrifying memories from his patients. Once you thought a woman, haunted by years of emotional, physical, and mental abuse, would jump up and throw herself from a window, until Dr. Bachman eased her into peace. He had a way with words, people would often say, and you’d witnessed it more times than you could count.

The hardest part of your decision was knowing you’d have to move to Germany, residing in Berlin, thousands of miles away from your home in New York. That’s where he based his practice, and the delightful accent he’d used to entice you, should’ve been your first clue. Once you settled the idea in your mind, though, you were ready to get started.

There was a price to working with him, though, the minuses, the negatives. The cost was the rest of your life. Your parents complained endlessly about never seeing you anymore. When you missed your sister’s wedding, you were nearly banished from the family altogether. You never dated. The idea was preposterous, if you were honest. You barely got any sleep and your diet lacked substance, to say the least. Did a Twinkie and Diet Coke count as lunch? You did your best to make up for it with vitamins, but after a year of this manic lifestyle, even Dr. Bachman agreed that you needed to take a break.

So you decided to spend two glorious weeks in the Bahamas, lying on the beach, drinking every kind of cocktail known to man. You actually frolicked. You frolicked on the beaches and swam in the ocean. You slept in, until the warmth of the sun and the sound of the waves lapping against the sand gently drew you from your slumber. You ate and ate _well_. The island offered incredible delicacies. As the two weeks winded down, you held a bit of regret that you couldn’t just live there forever.

You also took time to deal with what your job had cost you, and determined in your mind to make changes, when you got back. It wasn’t like Dr. Bachman demanded the overly long hours. You were driven to a fault. You wanted to be like him, even deciding to find a way to obtain a degree in psychiatry. But goals had only remained goals, because you never let yourself leave the lab or the office. It was something that would have to change.

Whilst out shopping one afternoon in the quiet warmth of a small village, you found a leather-bound journal, and purchased it. You began jotting down your own little plan. You jokingly referred to it as the “Berlin Accords,” after the now well-known _Sokovia Accords_ that were signed by most of the Avengers just over a year ago.

The Sokovia Accords were the only bone of contention that you and your beloved boss ever argued over. He was dead-set against them, believing that the only reason the governments of the countries involved wanted the Avengers to sign, was to control them for their own gain, and that ultimately, it would end in a war over who got to call for their help and when and where. He also felt strongly that they would stilt the Avengers' ability to act quickly, when an emergency arose.

You’d read every news article you could find on them, and believed they were needed. After all, there were an awful lot of super-powered people popping up all over the world. What if they brought their fight to your backdoor? Or worse, to a family member’s backdoor? What if you lost another person to their battles? You’d already lost one of your childhood best friends, Charles Spencer. He was in Sokovia, helping build sustainable housing for the poor, when a building collapsed around him. You could still hear the tear-filled voice of your mom, when she called to tell you Charlie was gone. So yes, as far as you were concerned, the Avengers needed to be managed.

Your verbal battles with Dr. Bachman over the Accords and government control, in general, had reached its peak right after the bombing of the U.N. meeting in Vienna. Nearly every day, you would get in shouting matches with him, even as you both continued to work. You literally believed you were mere seconds from losing your job one day, when he sat hard on his favorite stool and removed his glasses. He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“My ancestors suffered under the worst kind of government control possible. So many died under Hitler’s hand, it’s a miracle that I was even born. Both of my parents only just escaped death, when the war ended. They were just children.” He gazed up at you. “Did I ever tell you that my great uncle, on my mother’s side, was the one who made Steve Rogers into Captain America?”

Your mouth dropped open. “Dr. Erksine was your great uncle?”

He chuckled, a soft smile curling the sides of his mouth. “You are familiar with the story, then.”

“Of course…we learned about Captain America in history class in high school.” You shook your head. “I still can’t believe Captain Rogers wouldn’t sign the Accords. He was always a by-the-book kind of…”

“Stop,” Dr. Bachman held up his hand, “stop there. Steve Rogers was as far from _by-the-book_ as you could get.” He sighed, “I know…that’s not what the history books say. Believe me, I had to bring my great uncle’s journals to class to prove it. Steve always did what he believed was right, but that didn’t mean he always went by-the-book. And, in my gut, I know that’s why he won’t sign the Accords. He believes with everything in him that they’re ‘not right.’”

Your lips tightened into a line. “I see. Well, I can’t…I can’t believe there's any other way. The world cannot allow the Avengers to just go wherever they want and do whatever they want, because they think it’s the right thing to do.”

Dr. Bachman nodded. “You lost your friend. That has helped you decide.” When you popped your head up, he stood and stepped toward you. “Make no mistake. I am not saying you are wrong for letting your heart direct your mind…just as long as you realize it.”

You blinked back tears. “I do.” You folded your arms across your chest. “And I promise you, I won’t let my feelings get in the way of our work.”

And with that, you and your beloved boss went back to it, focusing on helping others, the most desperate and needy. You sat in your room at the resort and tapped your pen against your lips before quickly jotting down the conversation you and Dr. Bachman had, in your journal, surprised at how much it stuck with you after a year had passed. You also noted that it’d been relatively easy to keep your promise to him. Work was work; feelings and emotions had to be set aside.

It was with that attitude that you walked back into the small, fat building in the middle of Berlin. You’d never felt so rested and so ready to tackle whatever new project Dr. Bachman had next, not since you first started there. As you stepped into the office space, you could hear him mumbling. It made you grin, because his mumbling was a clear sign that he’d found something wonderful and exciting to work on. It also meant you were walking into a fresh opportunity to help someone who needed you.

You turned a corner and your mouth dropped. Dr. Bachman wasn’t just mumbling. He was pacing around, flipping through dusty old journals. There were papers all over his desk. He had no less than three computers up and running. He would only stop in his pacing, in fact, to click on something and beat the keyboard into submission.

“Dr. B?” you said, hesitantly stepping into the space. “What…” you glanced around, “what’s going on?” You’d never seen him like this. He was always chaotic, of course, but he maintained order despite it. But what you saw in that moment was an office that looked like a bomb exploded in it.

He mumbled a bit more, stopping to highlight some words in the thick journal he was holding before he looked up. “Oh! You’re back!” He slammed the book closed, dropped it on the corner of the desk, and chuckled. “You’re so tan! Did you have fun?”

You furrowed your brow and took a big step over a pile of books. “Dr. B…are you all right?”

He took a moment to follow your line of sight as you looked around the room. He laughed again. “I’m fine. I’m fine.” He stepped up to you, clasping your upper arms. “I take that back! I’m fantastic! I have some amazing news for you!” He gently shook you and then spun around toward his desk. He began shuffling papers. “Where is it? Where…ah, there we are…” He turned back to you. “I printed it off, so I could have a hard copy to frame, when we are successful.”

You blinked at him a few times before letting some laughter escape. “My goodness…I can’t wait to hear it, if it’s got you like this…” You folded your arms, took a step back, and leaned against the wall.

He grinned at you and fixed his glasses, staring down his nose, as he read: “Dear Dr. Bachman, I am hoping you can assist me with a very dire situation. Before I continue, I need you to understand that what I need help with must be kept in secret. I will give you the basis of the case, and if you decide it is something you are interested in, please contact me.” He brought his gaze up to you. “You ready for this?” he asked.

You nodded. “Sounds intriguing so far…and it’s certainly not the first time we’ve handled something top secret.” You smirked at him and tilted your head. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me who that email is from until the end, huh?”

“You know your boss well, my dear.” He chuckled and then continued, “I have, here in my company, a man who has suffered under the hands of evil men for many years. He was programmed to do their bidding and sent on countless missions. When he discovered that their programming was still intact, he decided to put himself in stasis and in my care. After much searching, over the past year, I have found you. I have read about your case studies, Doctor, and believe that you are the one who can help him. The programming is embedded deep within his mind, and the ability to use that against him and, ultimately, against others, is in the wind. Any number of people could possibly take hold of it. So the only course is to free him of it.”

“Of all that is holy,” you whispered, your hand covering your mouth. “We’re doing it, aren’t we?”

Dr. Bachman laughed. “Well, you didn’t let me finish, but it does end with him asking if I believe I can help…and when I contacted this man, I told him I believed _we _could.”

You shook your head. “Yes…of course…who sent the email?”

“King T'Challa of Wakanda.”

Your eyes grew wide. “Really? Wow…” You dropped your hands to the wall, as if making sure it would still hold you. “And after knowing that you and I would be working together, did he tell you who the patient is?”

“Yes, he did. I told him that I would need two weeks before the patient is taken out of stasis and brought here, to study as much as I could about his past.”

You furrowed your brow. “I get that his programming is…how did the king put it? ‘In the wind’? but there’s more of the patient’s past available, too?” You stepped forward. “All right. Spill it. Who are we going to be deprogramming?”

Dr. Bachman chewed the bottom corner of his lip. “None other than The Winter Soldier himself.”

“What?!” You stepped back and shook your head. “You can’t be serious! Doctor, he…he’s a fugitive!”

“He’s a victim, [Name]. He was brainwashed by HYDRA. He is James Buchanan Barnes and he needs us.”

“But he…he murdered people…he…”

Dr. Bachman frowned. “Listen to your words…listen to them. He is a POW from World War II. He was captured, tortured…” he turned and began shuffling papers, bringing them up in messy stacks, “mutilated…and forced into service. He had no choice. He had no control. He was used as a weapon without mercy.” He shoved the papers at your chest and stepped past you, stomping down the hall. You could hear the front door open and slam behind him and you shivered. It was the angriest you’d ever seen him.

As you began to straighten the papers into an orderly pile, you glanced down and saw words forming on the page: “Through electrical surges applied to his brain, the Asset was wiped clean…” You trembled. “The Winter Soldier...” you muttered. The images that assaulted your brain made tears rise. Hadn’t you already read about him in countless newspapers? He was an assassin, a brutal one. How could Dr. Bachman want to help him?


	2. Chapter 2

Three hours had passed, when the sound of the front door opening sent countering waves of relief and apprehension through you. You could hear the doctor shuffling down the hallway, and it made your adrenaline kick into high gear.

For a moment, after he left, you’d considered going after him. Instead, you’d busied yourself by working through the mounds of papers that blanketed the office in white. You’d sorted, scanned into the computer, and manually filed a little over half of them. Your shoulders and back ached, but at least the chore had distracted you from your boss’ anger, for a time.

In the midst of your organizing, you’d even dragged an old, dusty bookshelf from storage, cleaned it, and piled it high with the journals Dr. Bachman had collected. You were beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

“Hello,” Dr. Bachman sighed, as he hung back from entering the room, perching himself against the door jamb, instead.

A single word that stopped you in your tracks, even as your heart raced. You kept your back to him, your focus on a small piece of white tape that you stuck to the top of a folder. In black letters, it read: Missions 1950-1959. “Hello,” you returned.

He stepped into the room. “You’ve accomplished quite a bit,” he said, as he peered over your shoulder. “Read any of it?”

You frowned. “I read through some of the missions, yes.”

“And what about their methods to incapacitate him?”

You sighed, “No. It wasn’t really necessary for me to read them, in order to file them away.”

“It wasn’t necessary?!” He sounded disgusted and you felt your anger bubble up.

“I’m just trying to get this mess in order, Doctor.” You felt sick. One of the things you’d always loved about your job was your relationship with your boss. And since moving to Berlin, you’d only worked, never socialized. That meant that he was your only friend in the city. Feeling the tension in the room made your head spin. You could sense him staring at you, but you kept your head down, eyes on the file folder in front of you.

He gave a long sigh and stepped away. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” He reached the door and turned. “You will have to read the files, eventually, though. He will be our new patient by the end of the week.”

You swallowed and nodded, slowly. “I understand.”

\---

_Three days later…_

You sat in your small office that was attached to Dr. Bachman’s. There were no windows in the tiny room, but you could still hear the busy street just outside the wall. You actually loved the noise, since it reminded you of New York. You leaned back for a moment and closed your eyes, soaking it in.

As promised, you’d devoted yourself to reading all the documents Dr. Bachman received from King T’Challa on the Winter Soldier. They weren’t originals, of course, or you’d have had to brush up on your Russian. They were carefully translated into English, and thankfully, not a line of them was redacted. You almost felt like a spy of sorts, delving into what had to have been top secret HYDRA intelligence even as close as a year ago.

As you’d discovered the day before, there were no less than 25 missions, documented, all of them included assassinations. Some were simply missions where no survivors were allowed. Others were assassinations in whole, the mission itself.

There was an entire packet of pages describing five additional Winter Soldiers who were “made” back in the early 90s. You’d read through that folder at the beginning of day one, and with each turn of the page, you felt a little more terrified.

When you asked Dr. Bachman about them, he told you that a criminal named Zemo had killed them last year, as part of his plan to cause a split between the Avengers. You had to admit feeling a bit relieved, despite Zemo’s ultimate plan. One Winter Soldier was enough to haunt your sleep.

Also on day one, you’d worked your way back through the missions, taking notes and highlighting where you felt necessary. You had almost one and a half of your yellow notepads full of your scratchy handwriting, by the time the sun set in the evening. Your hand ached and you lamented Dr. Bachman’s preference for taking handwritten notes. “It commits the words to memory,” he’d offered. You’d merely groaned in return, wishing for the keyboard with every shot of pain through your wrist. You’d also have to admit, he was right, which wasn’t top on your list of priorities at the moment.

You’d been astonished by the assassinations credited to the Winter Soldier in the documents, although none stunned you as much as the one labeled, November 22, 1963. Was it a fabrication? Could it be that HYDRA was responsible for the assassination of President Kennedy? When you asked Dr. Bachman, he’d merely smiled at you, as he looked over his glasses. “You just said, ‘HYDRA was responsible,’ instead of laying blame on the Winter Soldier. That’s progress, my dear.”

You rolled your eyes. “Are you going to answer the question, or…?” You glanced down at the folder. “Was _the Winter Soldier_ actually the one who killed John F. Kennedy?”

“It seems so…” he sighed, “and what a pity.” He dropped his gaze.

“Of course it was…the president was killed.” You frowned and tapped the folder.

He popped his head up. “Huh? Oh, yes, of course…but what I meant was, well, what a pity that an American soldier, who chose to fight in World War II, will have to live with the fact that he was used to kill a President of the United States…among the others, as well, I mean…”

Your frown deepened and you turned. “Yeah…he has a lot of blood on his hands.” You flopped back down in the chair. Hearing Dr. Bachman mumble from the next room made you wish, for the first time, that there was a door to slam shut.

As you sat in your office, remembering the exchange, you opened your eyes and blinked a few times. It wasn’t even the worst you’d had with him, since he had decided, without asking you, to take on this new case. As it turned out, he was even more stubborn than you. He stood his ground and fully expected you to have the files read and copious notes taken by the end of the week.

You leaned forward on one elbow and flipped the next file open. It was the first of the ones he considered most vital, holding information about the techniques and methods used to subdue and control the Winter Soldier.

You began reading from the folder that you’d simply dated WS1 1945-1949. It was only about 15 pages thick, and each page seemed to be only a smattering of information, at best. It would be a quick read. The first page, dated January 15, 1945 through September 2, 1945, was actually just a list:

  * Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes discovered, injured (15/Jan)
  * Loss of lower left arm, amputated (15/Jan)
  * Prisoner 52764, James Barnes, non-compliant to interrogation (25/Jan)
  * Prisoner 52764 attempted escape (8/Feb)
  * Prisoner 52764 returned to cell 23, solitary (9/Feb)
  * 52764 non-responsive to questioning (27/Feb)
  * 52764 determined best qualified for Winter Soldier program (18/Mar)
  * 764 put into cryostasis (15/Apr)
  * War ended, relocation of prisoners. 764 kept in stasis New location: TBD (2/Sep)

You stared at the list for a long while, looking past the words to the meaning behind them. The first bullet point contained his full name. The second, no name and very brief for a medical procedure. The third and beyond struck you the most. Obviously, giving him a prisoner number was common. The size of the number made you tremble. With each line, though, it was as if they were minimizing him.

You picked up your yellow notepad, flipped to a fresh page and marked the top: WS1 1945-1949 Page 1. You quickly jotted down your thoughts. _Moving from referring to him by his full name to ‘Prisoner 52764’ to simply ‘52764’ to ‘764,’ speaks volumes. It’s evidence of a minimalistic view of Sergeant Barnes, dehumanizing. He was put into stasis in three months. Three months is all it took for them to determine he was a viable candidate for the Winter Soldier program and put under. Incredible._

You set your notepad to the side and turned to the next page. It wasn’t until late 1947 that Arnim Zola returned to the HYDRA facility, located on a mountaintop in Siberia. He brought with him one Dr. Johann Fenhoff, a psychiatrist trained in mind manipulation. You swallowed, as the realization began to sink in.

Upon Zola’s return, Sergeant Barnes was taken out of stasis and a new _metal _arm was attached. Immediately following, Dr. Fenhoff’s ‘therapy’ sessions began. There was a full page denoting Sergeant Barnes’ resistance to the manipulation. It was obvious that whomever had originally written the words was angry, frustrated. The more you read, the easier it was to conclude that this particular part of the documentation was written by Zola himself.

You jotted down several thoughts and highlighted one passage: _52764 began the session, screaming at full volume, in an attempt to drown out Dr. Fenhoff’s words. When he was muzzled, he screamed beneath the muzzle. Each punch to quiet him was met with childlike refusal to adhere. If not for the time and effort already placed in accomplishing our goals, I would kill him and move to the next._

“So angry,” you muttered, your voice laced with sarcasm. “Using words such as ‘childlike’ and ‘refusal to adhere’ and documenting that you’d wished to kill him tells me a hell of a lot about you, Zola, but even more about Sergeant Barnes.”

If Dr. Bachman had heard you or even seen you in that moment, another smile would’ve curled his lips. You felt pride in this American soldier and it, no doubt, showed on your face. He’d been through hell already, and yet, he was nowhere near ready to give up the fight.

You turned the page and continued, as all of Bucky’s efforts were beaten down and the manipulation began to work. That particular part of the documents should’ve had the words used to program him, but they were missing. Somehow, you and Dr. Bachman were going to have to find out what those words were that both HYDRA and Zemo used to bring the Winter Soldier to the surface. Dr. Bachman wanted to break each one down, tearing its hold on Bucky’s brain, until he was free.

You frowned and turned another page, finding the beginning of his training, under the mind control. Reading through the transcript of the training and torture that followed was like reading a horror novel. You couldn’t believe the words that sank into you, page after page. There were actually minimal words on his training, but the torture was eerily detailed and terrifyingly brutal.

The physical abuse was bad enough, but Dr. Fenhoff’s manipulation was much worse. The descriptions were of painful screams that tore through Bucky, as his memories were stripped away. With gleeful pride, Zola wrote of the ‘successful’ sessions where _Sergeant Barnes is losing his identity, his essence, his agency_.

“Sick bastard,” you muttered, hesitantly highlighting the section before jotting down more notes.

“You made it to the documentation of Sergeant Barnes’ transformation into the Winter Soldier,” Dr. Bachman said, breaking you from your thoughts.

You looked up at him and your eyes flashed with anger. “They stripped him of everything, just because he happened to be captured and determined viable.” You swallowed, your throat thick with emotion. “We’ve _got_ to find out what those _words_ are…it’s the only way we can free Bucky from the programming.”

Dr. Bachman raised his eyebrow. “Bucky?” He smirked. “How far have you read?” He stepped into the room and peered over onto your desk. “Just the first folder and already, he’s _Bucky_?” His mouth dropped. “You’re with me, then?”

You blinked back tears and nodded. “Yes…”


	3. Chapter 3

_Two days later…_

You glanced over at Dr. Bachman, as the two of you sat in King T’Challa’s private jet, flying to Wakanda. He was reading through a stack of file folders he’d brought onto the plane, his pen scribbling notes into one of his many leather-bound journals. The current folder he was holding was labeled WS1 Training 1990-2000. It contained very specific details on how Bucky was used to train the other Winter Soldiers and his responses to training them, as well.

You’d discovered, from reading more of the files and doing your own research that there was a partnership between the KGB and HYDRA. It’d lasted from the beginning of the war, all the way up to the dissolution of the U.S.S.R., when the KGB was “closed,” evolving into the Ministry of Security for Russia.

Their partnership wasn’t a match made in heaven by any means. There were plenty of things that HYDRA did outside of the KGB’s reach or approval, including assassinations of some of their top leaders, but the KGB didn’t complain too much. They were allowed unlimited access to the Winter Soldier and often used him as one of the main trainers in their Red Room facility.

Since the revelation that HYDRA had been hiding beneath the surface of S.H.I.E.L.D. for 70 years, you wondered if the same thing hadn’t happened with the Ministry of Security in Russia, HYDRA maintaining a foothold in the organization. Without concrete evidence, though, you’d concluded that it was one of those cases of, _if you don’t make a spectacle of yourself, we will look the other way_.

It left HYDRA thriving with nary a challenge or crack, until Nick Fury began to bang away at their wall and tagged Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff (a former member of the Black Widow program in the Red Room), Sam Wilson, and Maria Hill to join in. The collapse of HYDRA’s main U.S. base in Washington D.C. and the relative collapse of S.H.I.E.L.D. definitely left its mark on HYDRA’s underbelly. There were whisperings of a few scattered remnants internationally, but it would be years before they could recover what they’d lost.

Still. They’d left their mark on the world, and that included the mind of one James Buchanan Barnes. _The constant fear of losing yourself must be terrifying_. You pulled your shoulders back and rolled them to loosen the tension and let your gaze fall back to your boss. “Find out anything helpful on…what is this, you’re sixth time to read through those?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He smirked and peeked over at you. “Tenth and some help, I suppose…ultimately, that red journal with _the_ _words_ in it is our key. Based on reports, Zemo found it and used it. My guess? It was recovered, once he was arrested. We need that journal or someone who at least knows _the words _and will tell us.”

You frowned. “You aren’t thinking about asking Zemo for them somehow, are you?”

He shrugged. “If that’s what is necessary, but I hope it doesn’t come to that. Those words are vital to Sergeant Barnes’ full recovery. I can give him tools to manage, if the words are used against him…but that will only hold for so long. His programming is deeply embedded, thanks to their use of hypnosis and electro-shock therapy. Their methods…”

You dropped back against the seat and sighed. You understood his enthusiasm. If you were able to help Bucky deprogram, it would be quite the accomplishment, unprecedented. But just thinking about all that you’d read over the last week made you ache. Was it possible to approach such a case without your emotions interfering?

He kept speaking, oblivious to the pain covering your features, “Brutal…cruel…careless…”

You popped your head up and gaped at him. “Careless?”

He leaned toward you, letting his pen fall to his lap. “Yes! You must wonder why that journal was in such a place that Helmut Zemo could find it! Why was it not locked away at one of the bases? They had those other Winter Soldiers that were programmed the same way, and I assume they were hoping to use them again, when they began to rebuild HYDRA…”

“You think they’re going to rebuild?” you asked, eyes wide.

“Of course, they will…they will _try _anyway. I imagine they’ve already begun. But that is a problem for another day,” he sighed.

You groaned and fidgeted. “So many problems, but our biggest one is waiting for us in Wakanda.”

“We will find a way. I _know _what needs to be done. I just need all of the tools.”

You furrowed your brow. “It _is_ odd that they wouldn’t have that journal someplace a bit safer, but the bigger question is…where is it _now_?”

\---

Back at his mansion, Tony clicked on another page and sighed before rubbing his eyes. The old red journal had been surprisingly well-kept, and thanks to his A.I., the translation from Russian and German to English had been a breeze. What he found as he read through the scanned and translated pages was nothing less than horrifying.

He still hadn’t been dealing with the news that his parents were murdered all that well, but at least, he was seeing a psychiatrist. He’d initially found a Dr. Josef Bachman in Berlin, but the man was drowning in cases at the time. Dr. Bachman had recommended a colleague, though, and Tony had gone with it. Just having someone to talk to made a big difference. He’d even talked through everything that had happened with Barnes and Rogers, and he was proud to admit that he was beginning to understand the whole brainwashing, HYDRA thing in a new way, viewing it from his heart. He'd understood it, intellectually, of course, but grasping the reality that the person who killed his parents held no agency was difficult to deal with on an emotional level. He was making progress, though.

How he’d come across the red journal was another story, altogether, a long one. No one knew he had it, except Natasha, who’d come upon him staring at it one evening, a glass of whiskey dangling between his fingers. She’d offered to read it to him, to translate it, but he'd declined. He hadn’t had the guts, at the time, to look inside, at its contents.

Months after that, he’d let her see it from time to time, but only after she promised to keep his secret. It wasn’t hard to convince her, since she had plenty of secrets all her own. She was still in hiding, after being wanted for helping Steve and Bucky escape. Her visits to see Tony were always in the dead of night and never planned.

He was grateful that she waited until all the pages of the journal were scanned and translated before she disappeared with it just two weeks ago. She'd left no explanation for her sudden need to confiscate it, and there was a part of him that was afraid to know, anyway. Ultimately, he had no concerns that she would use it against him, and he dropped the subject. Besides, he had plenty of time to read the scanned copy and figure out what made Sergeant Barnes switch to the Winter Soldier and why. It did _not _make for a pleasant bedtime story.

\---

The lush landscape of Wakanda brought you new life, as the plane landed in a quiet part of a private airport. Everything was so green and beautiful, you couldn't believe your eyes. A scorching wind met you, as you descended the steps, but it didn’t steal your awe. Your feet touched the tarmac and you felt a sudden surge of excitement. You had finally arrived, and before you left that amazing country, a man would be given a new lease on his life.

A security guard dressed in a sharp uniform greeted you with a simple nod, directing you to a shiny black SUV. When the doors closed, hoods were draped over your head and that of Dr. Bachman’s, as well. Even knowing it was coming, your breath hitched. You were there to help the Winter Soldier, but that didn’t include knowing the exact location of where he was being kept.

It was strange how the passage of time was lost, when you couldn’t see where you were going. At first, you’d tried, just for kicks, to keep track of which way the vehicle turned, but it wasn’t long until it became a futile effort. Your mind drifted, thinking of what a lousy witness you’d make, were you ever actually kidnapped. The only thing you could make out was that the road changed from smooth to rugged and back to smooth again.

You were only just settling into the idea of being completely lost, when the car jolted to a stop. Doors on both sides were opened, and you were gently guided out and led down a rocky path. You stumbled a few times, but strong arms were there to catch you before you could fall. When the hoods were finally removed, you found yourself in what seemed to be a laboratory. The walls were white and the hallway was about the width of a hospital corridor. You blinked against the brightness before glancing at Dr. Bachman. He winked at you, his excitement palpable.

As you were led into a large room, you stopped in your tracks. “Are we going to see him now?” you asked, your mouth dropping open. “They don’t waste time, do they?”

“Time is not for wasting,” came a deep and heavily accented voice from behind you. You turned and your eyes grew wide, as King T’Challa stepped forward to greet you.

Your face turned red and you nodded. “Of course…we didn’t come all this way for tea…”

He gave a small smile and chuckled. “Perhaps we can have tea later,” he teased. “Welcome to Wakanda. I hope your flight was satisfactory?”

“It was very nice. Thank you.” You returned his smile and then glanced at Dr. Bachman.

“Your Highness,” he began, stepping forward, “we are thrilled to finally be here.”

After shaking hands all around, you had to admit that while T’Challa was formal in nature, his manner was casual with you and Dr. B. He was somehow both warm and a little frightening at the same time. Oh, and he was handsome, _very_ handsome. You had difficulty keeping your mouth closed, while you watched him and Dr. Bachman speak for a moment.

“Where is our patient?” Dr. Bachman finally asked.

“Right this way…”

T’Challa started toward another door, Dr. Bachman following. You blinked a few times and went after them, touching tables and backs of chairs, as you went. You were trembling and it made your legs feel like Jell-O. A knot tightened in your stomach, as a thick metal door swung open before you.

When you entered the next room, you saw him. He was inside a tube structure that was certainly more like something you’d see at a fancy spa than in a HYDRA prison, thankfully. Bucky was dressed in white and it looked like he was sleeping, peacefully.

“I’m surprised you kept him in stasis,” you admitted. “I thought he would be in recovery, when we arrived.”

T’Challa furrowed his brow and looked to Dr. Bachman, who responded, “He’s waking up from a long, dreamless sleep. It’s true that his body will need recovery from the frozen stasis, but his mind, his eyes _must _see us first, as he wakes.”

Once again, you turned red. “Of course.” You glanced at T’Challa. “My apologies, Your Highness. I’ve not slept well these last few nights.” You shook your head, trying to loosen the cobwebs.

T’Challa nodded but remained silent, turning only to direct his staff with another quick nod that it was time.

Several people dressed in white lab coats began scrambling around the lab, like ants disturbed in their nest. You and Dr. Bachman stepped back, letting them do their work. Buttons were pushed and the tube hissed.

“Don’t worry,” T’Challa murmured, glancing at you. “His awakening here will be much easier on him than what he experienced with HYDRA. With them, he was a machine, a tool. Here…he is human.”

Those last three words hit you hard. _He is human. What must it have felt like to live like a caged animal, to always be used, to feel fear and then uncontrollable rage?_ As you watched him being gently pulled from stasis, you wanted more than ever to help him be truly free. _He must be so tired of running, living a half-life. He deserves peace._

Another hiss from the tube and the man with dark brown hair and a scruffy face opened his eyes. The first face his gaze landed on was yours. Your eyes locked and you felt it to your toes. He licked his lips and frowned, looking around until he found T’Challa.

“It’s all right, friend. I’ve found the help you need.” T’Challa motioned back toward you and Dr. Bachman. “They’re here to set your mind free.”

Bucky’s eyes followed T’Challa’s hand from your boss, back to you. You offered a smile and gave a small nod. His gunmetal blue eyes softened and relief covered his features. He cleared his throat and looked at T’Challa again. “H…how long have I been…?”

“Just over a year,” the King returned.

Bucky nodded, furrowing his brow. He waited, as the technicians unlatched the safety harnesses. He allowed them to help him step out of the tube and to an awaiting examination table. A medical doctor began checking his vitals, and that’s when you noticed it for the first time. There was a small black cap or sleeve covering what was left of his metal arm, at the shoulder.

That was something you hadn’t been prepared for, when Dr. Bachman had filled you in on his current state. It was clear from the documentation that the arm was made to feel things, like a regular flesh arm. He could touch things with it, mainly weapons and triggers. It contained its own form of a nervous system, and the idea that it’d been blown off wrecked you. You couldn’t imagine the pain of losing your arm once, much less twice. It must’ve been like a nightmarish déjà vu for him.

When the initial examination was complete, he was wheeled into a smaller room to completely recover. It would be another hour before he was ready to be interviewed at any length.

When the door to the smaller room closed, you turned to face T’Challa. “Did you have any luck in finding the words used to turn on his programming?”

For the first time, T’Challa gave a full smile. “One better than that,” he said. He nodded toward a door and led you down a long hallway to an elevator. You and Dr. Bachman followed him inside and waited, as he used a retinal scanner to open a special box, pressing a button that read, “Basement E.” The doors closed and the elevator descended for several minutes.

When the doors opened, you followed him down a dark corridor. Lights flickered on, as you went, lasers scanning over him every five feet. “Stay close,” he muttered. “It only allows two visitors with me at a time. If you lag, it could set off an alarm. You do not want that.”

You swallowed and glanced at Dr. Bachman. You both picked up your pace while still maintaining a healthy distance from the imposing leader. After another retinal scan and a password were entered, a thick door opened, revealing a large office space. T’Challa turned and nodded at you both before stepping over to a large cabinet and pulling a long chain from beneath his shirt. The chain held a large key that he slid into a keyhole near the top of the cabinet. After turning it, a small metal piece slid over, revealing a screen. You and Dr. Bachman watched with baited breath, as T’Challa leaned forward and looked into the screen. _Another retinal scanner. This guy doesn’t mess around_. A large clanking sound followed the scan, and he tugged the heavy metal door open. He stuck his hand inside, laying his palm flat on a black screen. A red laser ran across his hand three times and then a small door opened.

You gasped as you caught sight of what was behind the door. You reached out and grabbed Dr. Bachman’s arm, giving it a squeeze.

“Is that…?” Dr. Bachman began, his voice low.

T’Challa pulled the red journal free and turned. “This can never leave this office,” he said, holding it up. “Do you understand?”


	4. Chapter 4

You and Dr. Bachman entered the room, both nodding. “We understand,” Dr. Bachman returned. “So I suppose this is meant to be our office, then?”

T’Challa motioned toward a large desk with ample space for two. “There are supplies in the drawers and you will each be provided with a tablet.”

Your mouth was open, as you searched for words. Five were all you could manage in the moment. “How did you get it?”

“Natasha Romanoff brought it to me yesterday. She’s quite resourceful, even when she’s in hiding. We’ve been searching for it since Bucky first went into cryostasis.” He tapped the journal against an open hand. “We owe quite a debt to Miss Romanoff.”

You blinked a few times, taking in the fact that he was talking about the famous Black Widow, super spy. She was one of those people that you’d heard about over the years, but had filed it away, unable to grasp that she was a real person. In your mind, she was nothing short of a legend. Hearing the King of Wakanda speak about her so fondly surprised you.

“Did she say where she found it?” Dr. Bachman asked, a frown forming. “Was it in the wrong hands, I mean?”

“Tony Stark had it. She,” he smirked, “confiscated it from him.”

Dr. Bachman scoffed, “That’s not the worst news, but –”

“Miss Romanoff was clear that Mr. Stark had no ill will left toward Sergeant Barnes.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, unable to tear your eyes away from the blood red journal with the black star. Dr. Bachman had no hesitations with it, however, as he stepped forward and held out his hand. “May I?”

T’Challa nodded. “Of course.” He handed the journal over, watching as Dr. Bachman carefully opened it. “There is quite a bit more there than just those trigger words. I’m afraid the information I sent you before about his training and torture was only the tip of the iceberg.”

You groaned and stepped back to lean against a wall, your hands behind your back. You watched your boss for a few minutes, as he examined the pages before your voice cracked and you asked, “Can you translate it, Doctor?”

“Y…yes,” he whispered, his mind twisted up by what he’d read thus far. He looked up at T’Challa and swallowed. “Might we get started now? There will be some things we need to write down before –”

T’Challa stepped around Dr. Bachman, giving you a curious glance as he walked over to the desk. He pulled a few of the drawers out and said, “There are recording devices, notepads, pencils here, and I can have tablets brought to you right away. I will need to get retinal scans and fingerprints from you both, so you can come and go from this room as you please.”

You nodded a few times, but your eyes never left your boss. The look on his face was one you’d seen before and it made your heart sink. He was beginning to doubt, and you wondered what was in that journal that appeared to be changing his mind.

T’Challa noticed your expression and came around the desk, walking toward you. “Are you all right? You’ve paled.”

You held up your hand and nodded, your lips in a tight line. “I'm fine, I,” you swallowed. “Dr. Bachman?” you managed. “Dr. Bachman, what is it?”

“I found the words,” he said, his voice barely audible.

You pushed off the wall and approached, giving T’Challa a side-eyed glance. After everything that you’d read about Bucky’s history, you knew the trigger words were the best chance to free him. But there was something oddly unsettling about having them now. They were most likely random and worthless, outside of being read in a certain order, and yet they contained more power than any one person should have, the power to take over another's mind.

As you moved to stand beside him, you glanced over his shoulder and grimaced. _Russian_. You knew very little Russian! If only you’d studied it over the last year, as Dr. Bachman suggested. “Are they random, like we thought they’d be?”

Dr. B. gave a small shrug of one shoulder and a frown tugged at his expression. “I can’t say for certain.” He shook his head. “No, there’s certainly some suspicion on that end. They appear random at first glance but –” T’Challa walked over, taking a place at Dr. Bachman’s free side, as Dr. B. slid his finger over the words. “There are three numbers…seventeen, nine, and one.” It was clear by his expression that he had a purpose for mentioning the numbers first, but he remained silent. When he brought his gaze to you, he tilted his head. “_Seventeen_, _nine_, and _one _or one, nine…seventeen.”

You licked your lips and swallowed. “Dear God,” you murmured. _Could it be?_ “His birth year?” He nodded and you dropped your focus back to the journal. “What else?”

“Well, the first one here is pronounced, sh-la-N-yeh. It means ‘a wish’ or ‘longing.’”

You leaped toward the desk, making both men jump, as you snatched up a notepad and pencil. You had him repeat the word several times before nodding. “What’s next?”

Dr. Bachman held his finger below the second word, pronouncing it several times, until you nodded. “It means ‘rusted’ or ‘corroded,’” he sighed.

Part of you wanted to analyze each of the words, as you went, but the important part was to get them down and practice them. Together, you’d built a plan of action, while you were still in Berlin. Now, with the journal, the _actual_ words, it was time to set the plan in motion. “Next?”

“There’s ten total,” he said, and over the next fifteen minutes, he listed them, pronunciations first and then English meanings. “So for all ten,” he said, “in English: Longing, rusted, seventeen, daybreak, furnace, nine, benign, homecoming, one, freight car…in that order.”

Each word hit you anew, your mind racing through the meanings. You rolled your lips and looked at T’Challa and then at Dr. B. “So his birth year seems very possible, but these others?”

Dr. Bachman grunted. “Yes, the others.” He frowned. “And are their placements significant?” He shook his head and brought his gaze up to T’Challa. “With this new information, we made need more than an hour before we are ready to speak with Sergeant Barnes.”

“Then we should get your retinal and fingerprint scans done now. I have other pressing matters and I need you to be able to come and go without my presence.” He nodded at you and Dr. B. in turn and added, “I will see to it that Barnes is monitored until you are ready to begin your therapy.”

“I’m the only one who will need the scans,” Dr. Bachman said, his eyes running over the words in the red journal, again and again.

You gaped at him. “Why’s that?”

He shrugged. “You will only come and go with me.”

“You send me on errands and such all the time. Are you saying you’re going to want to have to take me out of here and wait for my return each time?”

A frown tugged at his features. “We are _not _in Berlin. This is _not _a usual case.” He held the journal up and shook it. “We cannot throw caution in to the wind!”

You blinked at him and turned red. _Am I being scolded in front of the King?_ Dr. B. was definitely on edge. “All right,” you whispered before looking at T’Challa. “I guess he’s the only one who will need the scans done.”

Dr. Bachman said nothing, simply stepping over to the massive cabinet and placing the journal back into its hiding place. You noticed him tremble as he stepped back and waited for T’Challa to close it. He then turned his attention to you. “See what you can discern about the words and their meanings. I will be back as soon as possible.”

He sighed and you tilted your head at him, nodding. It seemed as if he’d aged 10 years, just finding that journal and reading the words. What should’ve been relief only felt like a further burden. It was more than just knowing the words. You would have to discern their meaning or you’d be no help to Bucky at all. “I’ll do my best,” you murmured, as he and T’Challa disappeared out the heavy office door.

You turned and stepped over to a chair hidden beneath one side of the large desk. You tugged it free and sat hard it in, pressing your fingertips to your temples. “All right. Let’s see here. _Longing_ probably has something to do with Bucky longing for freedom.” You jotted the idea down. “It’s a little on the nose, _HYDRA_, but it probably _is_ that simple.”

You furrowed your brows. “Rusted. Hmm. Surely, it’s not about his metal arm, specifically.” You chewed on your bottom lip. “What if it stands for their chosen missions for him…the timing? They might not have been able to leave him in stasis too long in those early days or their programming would ‘rust.’” You shrugged. It was as good a guess as any. You wrote it down and then tossed the pencil, shaking your head. “These words are too general. How are we ever going to break their hold on him, if we don’t have a clear path?”

You glanced down at the next one. “Daybreak,” you whispered. “Day – break.” You groaned. “What on earth could that mean?” You could almost feel the old HYDRA leaders of the past laughing at you.

You leaned forward and read through the list again before giving up on daybreak and moving to the next one. “Furnace. Well, that could easily mean fire-tested, burned memories, possibly even, ‘branded.’”

You snatched up the pencil and sat back in your chair, sighing. Did the words _have_ to mean something? Couldn’t they counter them without each one having some sort of purpose? You rolled your lips and frowned. “If it weren’t for the fact that they used his birth year…” You tapped the pencil on the edge of the desk and shivered.   
  
That notepad, in its entirety, would have to be burned to ash at some point. There was no way those words could be confiscated, put into the wrong hands. After all, what if you weren’t successful? What if you couldn’t free Bucky?

You leaned forward, dropping the pencil again to rub your eyes. “Concentrate, [Name].” A series of hisses sounded behind you and you knew that T’Challa and possibly Dr. B. were returning, although it seemed really quick.

You turned just when the door opened and your mouth dropped, as a tall blond entered. Recognition was immediate and so was your reaction, _trembling_. “H…hello,” you managed.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Steve said, offering a smile.

“I’m a bit surprised,” you admitted. “I thought only the king had the ability to come in here.”

He smirked and rocked back on his heels. “I just asked,” he shrugged, “and I guess he decided it might be a good idea.” He lifted one hand and wiggled his fingers. “The technology is amazing.”

“Yes, it is…although, apparently not needed for everyone,” you sighed.

“What’s that?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows.

“Oh, nothing.” You picked up the pencil and tapped the table again.

He glanced back at the door and then at you and said, “I just met your Dr. Bachman and he mentioned that you were in here, trying to make sense of the words used on Bucky?”

You nodded, slowly and then stood. “I, um, was just looking at them here. Seems his birth year was part of it, so we figured the other words had to mean something, too.”

“Mind if I take a look?” he asked, stepping toward you. He shook his head and sighed, “Where are my manners. I’m Steve –”

“Rogers,” you finished, your cheeks reddening. “Sorry, it’s just that…I know, um, who you are. I’m [Full Name].” You stuck out your hand and he took it, giving it a few firm shakes.

“It’s nice to meet you, and thank you for coming all the way here. I know there’s nothing Bucky wants more than to be free.”

“We all want the same thing,” you offered before glancing down at the notepad. “We’re going to do everything we can to reverse the effect of these words on him. I can’t imagine how scary it must be, knowing someone could use a list of words against you.”

Steve sighed and frowned, dropping his gaze. “It’s terrifying. He doesn’t _want _to hurt anyone.”

“I know,” you whispered. Clearing your throat, you then motioned toward the chair on the other side of the desk. “Want to bring that around and we’ll look through these?”

Over half an hour slipped by, unnoticed, and you sat staring at the list, still a bit dumbstruck. Steve had managed to fill in the gaps and what was scribbled in lead on yellow paper before you gave you hope. “I’m glad you came in here. I had no idea that words like 'daybreak' and 'rusted' would have such significant meaning for Bucky.”

Steve kept his eyes on the paper, his features covered in worry. “I had no idea that HYDRA knew so much about him.” He swallowed and touched the notepad.

“Dr. Fenhoff was a wretched manipulator, Steve. There’s no doubt in my mind that he used whatever method necessary to coax personal information from Bucky, during their so-called _therapy _sessions.”

He looked up at you, his eyes glossy. “It’s so hard knowing what he went through. The more I learn about it, the more I realize just how badly I failed him.” He dropped his head and your heart ached.

“Steve, I read the files. You did everything you could. No one believed he could’ve survived that fall, and who knows how many lives would’ve been lost, if you’d tried to search for his body.”

He gave a sad laugh. “I’ve heard all of the excuses before, [Name]. Trust me.” He lifted his gaze. “It doesn’t matter anyway – _my_ guilt. All that matters is that he’s free.”

You tapped the notepad and smiled, as genuinely as you could. “This list goes a long way toward making that happen. Thank you for your help.”

He smiled and sighed with relief. “That’s good to know and thanks again for coming here.”

“We’re more than happy to do everything we can.”

Hissing came from behind you and you and Steve both turned, just as Dr. Bachman entered. “Ah, I see Captain Rogers found you.”

“Well, I couldn’t exactly leave,” you muttered. Dr. B. raised his eyebrow at you and you shook your head. “Never mind – yes, Steve actually helped quite a bit.” You stood and held the notepad up. “We don’t just have possible reasons for these words, we have history – personal history – that links Bucky to each word.”

Dr. Bachman’s eyes lit up and he scurried toward you, taking the notepad with both hands. “We are on our way, then.”

Steve chuckled at the doctor’s excitement and rose next to you. “I’m glad I could help.” He rubbed his hands on his jeans and sighed, “Guess I should let you two get to work.”

You rested your hand on his arm. “Actually –” you said, “if you have the time, I’d like for you to talk to Dr. Bachman about the meaning of each word. We’ve only read files about Bucky, but he’s your friend. You know him – we don’t, not yet.”

Steve drew his gaze from you over to Dr. Bachman, who looked up from the list and nodded. “It would help us, indeed, Captain Rogers.”

Steve smiled and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Well, if you’re sure I can help and won’t be in the way…” He glanced at you and then back to Dr. B., adding, “If you’ll call me _Steve_.”

Dr. Bachman chuckled and then patted the soldier on his back. “I’m sure you will not be in the way and consider it done.” He glanced about the room and then charged toward a stack of chairs in the corner, retrieving one and scuttling it back over to the desk. “Now, let’s get started,” he breathed, sitting hard on the edge of the chair.

Steve raised an eyebrow at you and smirked before motioning to your chair. Once you sat, he dropped into his chair and the three of you stared down at the list.

“_Longing_,” Dr. Bachman began.


	5. Chapter 5

“_Longing_,” Dr. Bachman began, “I see you referenced a poem by Matthew Arnold?” He furrowed his brow and looked at Steve.

“_Come to me in my dreams, and then by day I shall be well again. For then the night will more than pay the hopeless longing of the day_…” Steve murmured.

“So that poem was significant to Sergeant Barnes?” Dr. B. asked.

“It was in one of his letters to his girl back home, during the war,” Steve whispered. “I, um, located her – talked with her – not long after everything happened in D.C.” He glanced at you before shrugging at Dr. B. “She had all his letters and there was one where he talked about longing for home and he’d written that poem in it.” He rolled his lips and dropped his head. “He served because it was the right thing, the _honorable_ thing to do, but he wanted to go home and live…,” he sucked in air, “live his life.” He licked his lips and swallowed. “That letter stood out to me and, I don’t know, I figured it made sense that _longing_ for home was at the forefront of Bucky’s mind, when that Dr. Fenhoff was manipulating him.”

Dr. Bachman was writing furiously and nodding but didn’t lift his gaze, not once. While you understood his focus on the work, you were also irritated. It seemed obvious to you that Steve needed compassion at that moment, attention to _his_ needs. You reached out and rested a hand on his and then leaned your head down, until you made eye contact. “I agree, Steve,” you offered. “Being held against his will – a certain longing for comfort and for home would definitely be in his thoughts.”

“Yes, yes, this is a fine start,” Dr. B. interrupted. When you cleared your throat, he looked up at you and frowned. He sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Steve.” He glanced down at the notepad. “I’m afraid I’ve become too clinical in my approach and have forgotten that we’re talking about a dear friend of yours.” He set the pencil down and shifted in his chair to face him. “My apologies.”

Steve sighed and gave a slight shrug. “It’s okay. I just…it’s hard going through it again. There’s all these memories wrapped up in the Bucky I knew back in Brooklyn, and I know he’ll never be the same.”

Your heart broke in two and you squeezed his hand beneath yours. “We _are_ here to help Bucky, but Steve? We’re here for you, too.” You rolled your lips and glanced back at Dr. B. before continuing, “If it’s not too personal, have you ever sought help? You woke up 70 years after making the ultimate sacrifice – to a world you didn’t know anything about.” You tilted your head. “Have you seen a counselor or psychiatrist?”

He huffed out a laugh. “No, I haven’t really had the time.” He drew his gaze up and frowned. “Bucky is the priority. I’ll be fine. I can handle this on my own.”

“You don’t have to,” you whispered. “Let us help you, _please_?” You smiled and then shrugged. “If nothing else, it’s always good to talk to someone, right?”

He sighed and looked past you, over your shoulder at nothing in particular. “Maybe after Bucky is okay.”

You nodded. “That works. I don’t want to pressure you.”

Dr. Bachman tapped the pencil on the notepad behind you. “You can see why I chose her as my assistant – and why there are times when I realize she is much smarter than this old man.” He chuckled a bit, a smirk curling his lips. He let the smile fall and added, “She _is_ right, Steve. We will not leave until all things are settled and well. We’d be more than happy to meet with you, too.”

Steve bit his bottom lip and let out a long breath. “It’s nice hearing that and I’ll take you up on it…I promise.”

You grinned and sat back, your heart settling a bit. “Good.” You then shifted and nodded toward Dr. B. “Should we get back to it?”

Dr. Bachman glanced at Steve, who gave him a quick nod. “Yes, let’s get through these words and then we can get to our patient.”

“Right.” You trembled a bit, remembering how Bucky’s eyes had locked onto yours. You leaned forward and glanced down at the page. “_Rusted_ is next and it’s painfully significant to Bucky.” You looked over and raised your eyebrows. “Steve?”

“This may be a reach, Doctor, in that, well, I’m not sure if it’s something they would’ve gotten from Bucky or not.” He glanced at you. “[Name] actually had a pretty good idea behind the meaning, too – that possibly, it was a hint about their training and how, if he wasn’t used for a long period of time, his programming might become _rusted_.”

You waved a hand at him. “Mine’s not even close, Steve, not really. Our relationship with our parents or caregivers is not only the first we make but one that holds us, good or bad, for the rest of our lives.” You motioned back at Dr. Bachman and added, “Tell him what you came up with from Bucky’s history.”

“I really am intrigued,” Dr. B. began, “although, I believe you’re right. [Name]’s idea wouldn’t be far off.”

You smiled and shrugged. “Wait until you hear what Steve told me.”

Dr. Bachman glanced down at the page and grunted, “Um, yes, you just have here…_Father’s tools _and_ child/parent relationship changed_.”

Steve rolled his lips and sighed, “Right. The tools originally belonged to Bucky’s grandfather. He was a wood carver and when he passed, he left them to Mr. Barnes. When I was 7 and Bucky was 8, we found the tool box and took it outside. We used the tools to dig around and play in the dirt and grass at a small park near our homes. A, uh, sudden rainstorm blew in and we both just took off, leaving them there.”

Dr. Bachman scratched a summary on the notepad and leaned on his elbow to look at Steve. “And they _rusted_,” he stated.

Steve nodded, slowly. “He ran home and then panicked, wanting to go back and get them, but it was a terrible storm and his mom wouldn’t let him leave. By the time the storm ended, it was late. He had to wait until morning.” Steve lifted his gaze, glancing between you and Dr. Bachman. “He found them in a puddle and they were rusted. He collected them and we tried to clean them, but…some were ruined.” He stopped speaking and dropped his gaze.

You waited for a moment and then filled in a few more blanks. “Bucky’s father was a hard man. He served in World War I and had high expectations for his only son.” You licked your lips and continued, “Steve said that Bucky’s father never looked at him the same, until Bucky donned his Army uniform. Part of the reason Bucky enlisted was to make his father proud again.”

Dr. Bachman jotted down the last bit of information and then set the pencil down. “Thank you for sharing that, Steve. It’s most definitely significant. Those rusted tools altered Bucky’s relationship with his father. He joined the Army, in part, to repair the damage, and then found himself in the hands of the enemy. There’s no doubt in my mind that they coaxed that piece of history from him. As [Name] mentioned, parental relationships linger with us for our entire lives.”

“I hadn’t even thought that far,” Steve admitted. “He must’ve wondered what his father would think, knowing his son had been captured.” He shook his head and then pulled his hand down his face. “Can I ask…what will knowing all of these meanings behind the words do for him?” He looked at you and then to Dr. Bachman. “I’m not questioning your methods, I’m just _curious_.”

“Our first sessions with your friend will be mostly talking about his memories, what he still holds in his mind. It’s important for him to recall as much as he can before we begin to break down the programming. Once that is accomplished, we will attack each word, one-by-one.” Dr. B. frowned. “I’m afraid it’s going to be very challenging, beyond the scope of anything I’ve done before. [Name] will be by my side and we may have to have Sergeant Barnes locked dow–”

“No,” you and Steve said in unison. Steve gaped at you, surprised before adding, “I’ll be there. If he strikes out, I’ll stop him from hurting anyone, including himself.”

“I see.” Dr. Bachman raised his eyebrow at you. “And your reason for protest?”

You chewed on your bottom lip for a second. “Well, Bucky is going to need to be free to vent his frustrations, anger, pain…whatever may come. We can’t lock him up like an animal. Steve mentioned something about a lullaby that Miss Romanoff used with Dr. Banner, to calm him down from being the Hulk. I was hoping to talk with her and do my own research and see if there wasn’t something I could come up with to use with Bucky.” You glanced between the two. Steve’s face softened and he smiled at you. Dr. Bachman looked thoroughly intrigued by the idea.

“Very good,” he said, nodding. “You do that – if it worked on the Hulk, there’s a good chance it can be used with Sergeant Barnes.”

“That’s a great idea,” Steve offered. “Nat is due back here tomorrow. I’ll make sure she finds you.”

You let out a breath and smiled. “I have high hopes. I’d do anything to keep from having to see him locked down.”

“It’s a brilliant plan, my dear. There will be a lot of physical and mental pain for our Sergeant Barnes, I’m afraid, but as each word is broken apart and replaced with a safe word, the pain will become less…I hope.”

Steve frowned. “I’d still like to be in the room.”

“As long as Sergeant Barnes approves, it’s fine with me.” Dr. Bachman lifted a finger. “But, if I tell you that you need to leave at any point, you must do so without question.”

“Whatever you ask.”

Silence covered the room for a minute before you hesitantly whispered, “Um, the, uh, next word is seventeen, which we have figured out. Following that is _daybreak_.” You lifted your gaze to Steve, as Dr. B. picked up the pencil, ready to write. “Do you want to share it or would you rather I did this one?”

“I don’t mind doing it,” he said, his voice low.

“You sure?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “This one is deeply personal for you, too.”

He dropped his gaze, staring at your hand, which still covered his. He flipped his over and grasped yours, intertwining your fingers together. “It’s for Bucky. He’s certainly been through enough. I can handle it.”

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze and whispered, “Okay, just let me know, if you need a breather.”

He nodded and then began, “After I located the captured soldiers, including Bucky, and we’d re-formed the Howling Commandos, Bucky took me aside to talk. He wanted to be sure that I was in it for the right reasons, not just to prove something. He made me swear that we would meet up each morning at daybreak to talk, one-on-one, about the detailed plans of the day.” He looked up at you, his eyes glossy. He sniffled and then continued, “It became our code word to each other – daybreak. Whenever one of us noticed the other battle weary or too on edge, we’d say, ‘daybreak,’ and we’d take a minute to talk things through.”

He released your hand and pressed his palms against his eyes. “Damn,” he muttered, “this is harder than I expected.” He dropped his hands and looked at you. “When I told you this before, it felt different. Why does it make my chest ache this time?”

You placed your hand on his upper arm. “Because, we were investigators before – we were problem-solving, trying to lace things together. Now, you’re simply reliving it, as you talk about the past. The problems are solved and it’s left your brain open to _process_ the memories.” You gave his arm a squeeze and then dropped your hand to your lap. “Do you want me to finish this one?”

“No, I need to do this,” he whispered, sniffling again. He glanced past you to Dr. Bachman, who was giving him his undivided attention. “The last – the day we were going to sneak into Zola’s train – our daybreak meeting was more difficult than usual. Bucky kept telling me he had a weird feeling in his gut that something would go wrong. He needed assurance from me, as the leader, that we weren’t being complete idiots, cascading down a zip line and landing on top of the train.” He scoffed, “And I told him it was full proof and that I needed him to trust me.” Steve shoved away from the desk and walked away. There were no windows, being so far beneath the surface, so he stepped over to an oil painting hanging on the far wall. “And all I can think about is that they used ‘daybreak’ to remind Bucky how he couldn’t count on anyone, especially not his best friend.”

A tear slipped down your cheek and you looked at Dr. Bachman. Dr. B. rolled his lips and shook his head. You could find no words, so you were thankful, when your boss spoke, “Steve Rogers,” he sighed, “you have been beating yourself up with every breath you’ve taken since Sergeant Barnes fell from that train, haven’t you?” He stood and you shuffled out of your chair to follow him. You held back a bit, as the older man stepped up next to Steve and put his hand on his shoulder. “Never let an organization like HYDRA dictate how you feel about yourself. It’s obvious they did their research, delved deep into the psyche of their victim. But they do not define you, sir. They do not define Sergeant Barnes. Your friend is here, _safe_, because of you, and we are going to break HYDRA’s hold on him. You need to let us help you break their hold on you, too. You are a good man.”

With Dr. Bachman’s last words, Steve broke down, and that’s when you stepped in. You wrapped your arms around him and he clung to you. “You deserve to be free, too,” you whispered. “You’re _allowed_ to be free.”

“I think that perhaps we need a break,” Dr. Bachman said before moving back over to the desk and flopping down in his chair. If just talking with Steve about the meanings of the words was so emotionally exhausting, what was it going to be like when the two of you attempted to free Bucky’s mind from their control? He picked up the pencil and rolled it between his thumb and finger, as he looked down at the notepad.

Steve pulled back from you and wiped at his face. “I…I’m okay. It’s been a tough few years, is all.” You gazed up at him and offered a smile of understanding. He touched your arm and then stepped toward the desk. “The next word is furnace, right?”

Dr. Bachman watched as Steve approached. He nodded once but waited until you joined them and everyone was seated. “Yes, it’s furnace and then nine, benign, homecoming, one, freight car.”

“Furnace is a bit odd, if I’m honest,” Steve admitted. He stared down at the yellow notepad lying on the desk. “I mean, it makes sense, I suppose – one of Bucky’s _many_ side jobs back home was repairing furnaces – but it seems to be much less _personal_.” He furrowed his brow.

“Indeed,” Dr. B. muttered. “It would seem odd to include such a word, if it was merely a job.” He tapped the notepad and looked over at Steve. “And you know of no instance that stood out – something that might’ve happened on the job?”

Steve shook his head. “Nothing that he told me.” He licked his lips and sighed, “Maybe he’ll remember something?”

“We’ll have to ask him,” you said. “There might be something that happened that was, I don’t know, embarrassing or something he felt you wouldn’t approve of? It might explain him not filling you in.”

Dr. Bachman wrote a few more notes and then said, “Let’s move on. Nine is taken care of, so we have benign.”

Steve frowned. “The only thing I could think of was that it could describe his mother?”

“It would make sense that they would use a word for his father and one for his mother,” Dr. Bachman offered. “But is there something significant about it?”

“I just had a thought,” you whispered, making both men look at you.

When you sat staring at the notepad in silence, Dr. Bachman pressed, “What is it, [Name]?”

You blinked and then glanced at Steve before looking at the doctor. “Well, I do think it could be in reference to his mother. The way you described her, Steve, she was a lovely woman – but I think the placement of the word within the 10 speaks volumes. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before.”

Dr. Bachman held the notepad up and read through the words again. “Yes, yes, I see what you mean. Benign doesn’t just mean kind or good-natured, it can also mean _harmless_. By the time they reached the seventh word of ten, I imagine Sergeant Barnes already compliant or well on his way – and no longer a danger to them.”

“Dear God,” Steve mumbled, under his breath. “Are they that calculated?”

Dr. Bachman rose from his chair and shuffled over to the cabinet. He went through the process of opening it, including pulling a large key out from his shirt. He carefully lifted the red journal and brought it to the desk. He opened it, slowly, turning to the page that held the words. “See here? The words almost feel like an afterthought, what with the large drawing of an eye there.

You gaped at the page. “What in the hell?” You covered your mouth and leaned forward. “Why is there a graphic of an eye? What does it say?”

Dr. Bachman frowned. “He was operated on. The summary is too brief to truly understand, but he will need to be examined by a medical doctor _again_. There’s a possibility that at some point a chip or something was inserted in his eye, some kind of device to help him become _obedient_. So to answer your question, Steve, yes, they were that calculated. They left nothing to chance.”

The three of you stared at the pages for a long while, as Dr. B. translated, as best he could. Some words were smudged, but the gist was that Bucky receiving a metal arm was not the end of his physical conditioning.

“Wh…why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?” you asked. “Isn’t a device or…or _chip_ going to prohibit us from breaking his programming?”

“It doesn’t prohibit us from preparing, but yes, we will need to have him looked at.” He glanced up at Steve. “So Sergeant Barnes is unaware?”

“As far as I know,” Steve whispered before drawing his lips into a tight line. “I can’t believe this.”

You picked up the notepad and stared at the remaining words. “Guess that’s why homecoming, one, and freight car were all so easy to define. They’re the closing words, the final measure.” You looked at Steve. “No doubt, Bucky dreamed of going home – of, as he put it in that letter you found to his girlfriend, a grand homecoming.”

“And, of course, him falling from the train – freight car – was how they found him. It’s all come together and I’ll admit, even for someone like me who’s seen his fair share of hell, hidden beneath the surface of people’s minds – this whole thing terrifies me.” Dr. Bachman sat back and ran his hands down his face. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about his eye before, [Name]. I was so focused on the words.”

You shook your head, slowly, still trying to take it all in. “It’s fine,” you murmured. “We have a lot of work to do.” You dropped your head back and stared at the ceiling. “I’m terrified, too…mostly, for Bucky. Is he going to be able to endure the therapy? It’s going to be extensive.”

Steve stared at the two of you, all of the sudden very aware of how lucky he and his best friend were to have you both there. He let out a long breath and whispered, “He’ll do anything to be free.”


	6. Chapter 6

A week had passed, since you, Steve, and Dr. Bachman worked through the trigger words together. In those seven days so many things had happened, and you were left in a zombie-like state because of them.

The first couple of days, Dr. B. had been absent a lot, in various meetings with medical doctors and T’Challa, and it left you stuck in that office for hours on end, nerves frayed. When you’d finally confronted him about why he didn’t feel it necessary for you to be able to come and go as you please, he confessed that ultimately, he was worried about your safety.

“If you were out on an errand and someone, an enemy, identified you and captured you, they’d have everything they need to get to that book, to those words.” He sighed, “And I know you well enough to know you wouldn’t give them what they wanted, easily. I just feel it’s safer to have only a few who can come in here.”

You frowned. “I understand what you’re saying, Doctor. I really do. But you know I’m not going to be running to the market for milk. I have _work_ to do, too.” You glanced around the office. “I feel like a kept woman in here, what with you, Steve, and T’Challa being the only ones who can ‘set me free.’”

He relented then, advising T’Challa that you needed to have access in and out of the office. Once that was settled, you accomplished a lot. In fact, you were well on your way to checking every item off your list. One thing that was missing was sleep. You worked somewhere around 17 to 20 hours a day, taking mini naps here and there. Steve even found you practically unconscious, pen in hand, mid-sentence, 100% asleep, in the office just the day before.

Now, you sat staring out the window of the en suite bathroom in your living quarters that T’Challa had provided for you when you arrived. You’d just showered and were wrapped in a towel, brushing through your still damp hair.

You thought about your meeting with Natasha about the lullaby. It’d gone well, with her telling you every step she took to create and implement the one she used on Hulk. “It’s not just about saying the right things. It’s touch, as well. The steps are very important.”

You took copious notes, even while feeling awed by just being in her presence. As the meeting came to a close, you rolled your lips and looked away. “I suppose being close to the person is equally important.”

She sat back and waited until you looked at her again. “Yes, you need to have, at the very least, _trust _between the two of you.”

You frowned. “I haven’t even been to see him, yet, not since he was taken out of stasis.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “You haven’t? Why?”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged. “Maybe I’ve just been waiting until I had the right plan for the lullaby. I’d like to talk to him about it.”

She leaned forward on her elbows and folded her arms across each other. “I think he’s ready for just about anything at this point, although, he’s tired of being poked and prodded.”

You shook your head. “I can only imagine. He’s still got that surgery on his eye next week…and who knows when he’ll get a new arm.” You bit your lower lip. “And once he’s recovered, our therapy sessions will begin in earnest.” You tilted your head. “Have you talked to Dr. Bachman at all?”

She smirked. “I have. He’s a very smart man with a big heart.” She tapped your hand with her fingertips. “And he has the right assistant. I’m glad you’re both here.”

You smiled then and chuckled. “Thanks. That means a lot coming from you.”

And minutes later, the meeting ended. Natasha was off on another scouting mission. Between keeping an eye on Tony Stark and maintaining an observation of the remnants of HYDRA, she was a very busy spy.

You relaxed your arm but held onto the brush. Sitting in the quiet, it was the first time you had a chance to think things through without interruption. You were still exhausted, but at least you felt clean and somewhat refreshed. You thought about what the next few weeks would entail and your mind drifted to your conversation with your boss.

Dr. Bachman had visited Bucky every single day, since the first, and reported back to you that he was in good spirits, ready to be free of the programming, no matter how difficult. Just as you had with Natasha, whenever Dr. B. talked about visiting Bucky, you felt a pang of guilt over not going to see him, too. You felt ill prepared, wanting to go with a purpose, not some kind of social call.

Of course, Dr. Bachman disagreed with your hesitations. He felt it was important for Bucky to see and get to know every person involved in his recovery, before the therapy began. Once you finalized your lullaby idea, you had little excuse left, but you still felt nervous.

“You aren’t afraid of him, are you?” Dr. Bachman asked the day before.

You shook your head. “No…I’m afraid of failing him.”

Dr. B. frowned. “I see.” He sighed and then rested his hand on your shoulder. “You are a smart, capable psychologist, [Name]. I need you to be a part of the entire process and so does Sergeant Barnes. You cannot let fear of failure get in the way.”

You gazed up at him and then dropped your head into your hands. You sucked in a huge breath and sighed, “I know. I know you’re right. I don’t understand why I feel this way. It’s a tough case, sure, but we’ve had tough ones before.” You rolled your lips and looked at him again. “It’s frustrating when you can’t even diagnose yourself.” You frowned. “What’s wrong with me?”

“I think perhaps Steve’s guilt has seeped in. You see it in his eyes and you don’t want to feel the way he does, but the both of you are going to have to let that go and move forward…Steve with counseling and maybe you, by helping Steve?”

You nodded. “_Okay_. So you think I should start sessions with Steve now? You know he wants to wait until Bucky is taken care of, right?”

“I know, but I also know that he wants to be a part of Bucky’s healing process and he can’t until he’s, at least, worked through some of his own pain first.”

You looked down at the notepad in front of you and tapped it with your pen. “You know what? I think you’re right. I’ll talk to him first thing tomorrow morning _and_ I’ll go and visit Bucky. I think I’ve got the lullaby ready and I want to explain it to him.”

And as you continued to brush through your hair, you stared out at the lush landscape and you knew that the time had arrived. The first thing on your schedule was a chat with Steve and then a visit with Bucky. Since Bucky was going to have his surgery soon to remove whatever device that HYDRA had implanted, you knew he must be nervous.

Dr. Bachman had also mentioned to you that Bucky was dealing with Phantom Limb Syndrome and had to be put on medication, because the pain was so intense. _Poor guy. He’s been through so much already._

There was a knock at the door before it creaked open a bit. “Hey, [Name], oh, sorry,” Steve spluttered, backing out of the room again.

“It’s okay, Steve,” you said. “I need to talk to you anyway.” You looked down at your towel. “Should I get dressed first?” you tried to tease before your cheeks turned red. “Guess I should.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have barged into your private space like that,” he said, from the other side of the door. “I just came by to see if you’re still planning on visiting Bucky today?”

You ran your fingers through your hair, glad to find it more dry than wet before calling out, “Oh, uh, yeah.” You then scurried over to where you had laid your clothes and quickly began putting them on. “I’m going to spend a few hours with him, at least. I want to go over the lullaby with him and talk through some of his symptoms of that Phantom Limb Syndrome. Why?”

He pushed the door open a bit more, just as you tugged your blouse down. “I…” he cleared his throat, “he asked if you were. I, um, had breakfast with him this morning.”

You stepped over and pulled the door open, smirking at him. “That’s great. I’m glad you’re getting to spend some time with him, too.”

He brought his gaze up and smiled. “It’s been nice. He’s nervous about everything but he’s also at peace? I guess he’s just ready for his mind to be clear.”

“I know he has to be beyond ready. We won’t give up until he’s one hundred percent clear.”

His smile reached his eyes and he breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s always good to hear you say that.” He furrowed his brow. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

You motioned for him to back out toward the living room and once he did, you followed. You both sat on the couch, halfway facing each other and you began, “Dr. Bachman thinks it’d be a good idea for you to start some counseling sessions right away and he wants me to be the one to handle them.”

“Oh,” he whispered, “and how do you feel about it?”

“I think he’s right. What we’re about to go through with Bucky is going to be very difficult. Guilt is eating you up right now. You need some peace, too, if you’re going to be there for him.”

He swallowed and nodded his head, slowly. “If it’ll help Bucky.”

You pulled your hair over to one side and leaned your shoulder against the back of the couch. “Steve, it’s not just about helping Bucky. I know that’s your priority, but don’t you think you’ve lived long enough with that guilt? I want to help you work through it and then let go of it.”

He sighed, a long, heavy one and rubbed his hands down his thighs a few times. “How can I ever get away from it, until I see Bucky free? It’s _my _fault that HYDRA captured him in the first place.”

You gaped at him and shook your head. “Steve, no. Bucky wanted to go with you on those missions.”

“But he warned me. He told me he had a bad feeling about going after Zola’s train.”

“Steve, please listen to me. There is no way you could’ve known that Bucky’s gut feeling would actually mean something. You had a one-time opportunity to capture Red Skull’s right-hand man. You had to take it, and Bucky must’ve decided you were damn well worth it, too.”

He popped his head up and smirked at you. “You sound just like someone I used to know.” He dropped his gaze again and leaned forward on his elbows. “I guess it’s just hard to let go of the responsibility that I feel for Buck. He’s been through so much and he was all alone.”

You placed your hand on his shoulder. “He’s not alone now and I have no doubt in my mind that he wouldn’t want you to feel guilty.”

“[Name],” Dr. Bachman said, entering the room. “Sergeant Barnes is ready for you.”

You looked up and nodded. “Let me get my notes.” You then glanced back at Steve. “We’ll talk more later, yes?”

Steve sat back and sighed, “Sure. Hope everything goes well with Bucky.”

You stood up and stepped around him, calling back, “I’m sure it will. I’m actually really looking forward to it.”

Dr. Bachman chuckled. “She’s been skirting around seeing him for a week and _now_ she’s practically running to him.”

Steve rose from the couch and placed his hands on his hips. “Bucky’s ready to meet with her, too.” He smiled. “It’s going to work, isn’t it, Doctor? The therapy? Her lullaby? It’s going to work.”

Dr. Bachman offered a wide smile. “You know what? I believe with everything in me that it will work. Never have I had such a willing patient.”

Steve gave a soft laugh. “I think Bucky can already see to the other side of it…that’s what has made him willing to endure whatever it takes.”

“I don’t blame him,” you said, as you reentered the room. “What HYDRA put him through was nothing less than hell on earth. He deserves to be free, to have some happiness for a change.”

“Dr. Bachman,” T’Challa’s voice came through the speaker, “are you in there? Is [Name] with you?” His voice sounded strained.

Dr. B. stepped over to the speaker and pressed the button. “We’re both here, Your Majesty.”

You furrowed your brow, as you and Steve both joined the doctor. You glanced at Steve who shrugged, worry etching his face.

“Sergeant Barnes’ symptoms of Phantom Limb Syndrome have increased. The medication he was given is no longer helping. He’s crying out in intense pain.”

“We’re on our way,” Dr. Bachman said, glancing back at you. Tears formed in the corners of your eyes and you blinked them away before nodding.

“Should I go?” Steve asked, following behind you.

Dr. B. shook his head. “I’m sorry, Steve, but no. I think you need to wait. You’ve just begun your own therapy sessions. Seeing Sergeant Barnes in pain will trigger you.”

You turned, just as you reached the door and placed your hand on Steve’s upper arm. “We’re going to help him, okay? We’ve got this.”

Steve nodded, his lips forming a tight line. He watched as you and Dr. Bachman disappeared down a corridor before turning the opposite direction toward his own room.

\---

The screams reached your ears before you were even in sight of the main door to Bucky’s living quarters and your heart ached. You held fast to your notes, almost jogging behind Dr. Bachman, who’d not said a word, since he told Steve to stay behind.

Guilt tore at you and you wished you’d worked out the lullaby days before and visited Bucky as often. Maybe the lullaby could help with his pain from the missing limb, too, but how could you help him now? You’d read up on the syndrome and knew it could be debilitating, especially when the limb was lost in a violent way. _And he’s lost his arm violently, **twice**._ You frowned.

“Please! Make it stop!” Bucky cried out. “I…I can’t!” His body was shaking, rattling the bed, as he pleaded with the doctor.

“Now, just lie back, Sergeant Barnes. We’re going to try something new, _stronger_, to help with the pain. I know. I know it hurts.”

You and Dr. Bachman paused outside the room. You could see Bucky lying on his bed, as the doctor stood over him, needle in hand. He plunged it into the injection port and then handed it to a nurse before pressing two fingers against Bucky’s wrist and looking at his watch.

“Is he going to be okay?” you whispered, looking at Dr. Bachman.

“He’s got a long road ahead of him, I’m afraid, but yes, he will _eventually_ be okay.”

You held your notes close, your arms crossed against your chest, and watched as Bucky’s breathing slowed and his body relaxed. “That…that’s better,” he managed.

Several minutes passed, as the medical team continued to monitor Bucky’s condition. When his heartrate settled back to normal and the trembling stopped, the doctor nodded to the nurses and said, “Let’s give him time to rest.”

The nurses filed out first, followed by the doctor, who stopped next to Dr. Bachman. “Might I speak with you,” he looked past Dr. B. at you, “and your assistant?”

“Of course,” Dr. B. responded.

You turned a bit to follow the two men, as they headed for the exit. _I waited too long. Damn it._

“[Name]?” Bucky called out from his room and you stopped in your tracks. Both doctors stopped, too, their mouths opened with surprise.

You turned back and stepped up to the door. “You called me?” you asked, eyes wide.

He smiled and pushed the button to raise his bed, until he was almost sitting completely upright. His eyes were sleepy from the pain medication but they were clear. “You _are_ going to visit with me today, right?”


	7. Chapter 7

You glanced back at your boss, your eyes open and questioning. Dr. Bachman nodded and smiled at you, so you turned to Bucky again and leaned on the door jamb. “Are you sure you’re up for it? You’ve just gone through severe pain and the medication is –”

“I’m sure. I’ve been anxious to meet with you. Dr. Bachman told me that you…you’ve worked out a sort of ‘lullaby’? Something similar to what Natasha used with Bruce?”

You pushed off the wall and stepped into the room, nodding. “I have.” You stood beside his bed and set your notes down on the table next to it. “We’ll get to the lullaby soon.” You smiled. “I thought maybe we’d talk first, if you’re absolutely sure you feel up for it.”

“I’m absolutely sure.”

“All right. Well, you can, uh,” you smirked, “ask me _anything_. We’ll get to know each other. If you get tired or need a break, just say so.”

His smile lit up his face. “That sounds great.”

You glanced around the room, fidgeting. “Um, are there no chairs in here?” You chuckled. “I mean, I can stand.”

“They took them out there,” he said, nodding toward the small living space outside his bedroom. “They have so many doctors and nurses in here that the chairs kept tripping them up.” He gave a soft laugh. He pressed the button on his bed, lowering himself down a bit before scooting away from you. “You could sit here,” he offered, looking down at the now open space next to him on the bed. “It won’t bother me.”

“All right,” you said, smiling. When you sat, Dr. B. smiled and backed away, taking the elbow of Bucky’s medical doctor, as the two of them took up their conversation and walked out of the living quarters.

“Let me know if you experience any pain or get tired,” you offered.

He nodded. “I will. If I drift a bit, just shake me.” He chuckled. “I don’t know what they gave me, but it’s very good.”

You smirked. “The good stuff, eh?” You furrowed your brow. “I’m sorry you’re experiencing Phantom Limb Syndrome. Did they at least explain why?”

He rolled his lips. “Something to do with my brain not registering that the limb is missing.” He shook his head. “I’ve got so much going on up there already, I’m surprised my brain has room for more.”

You nodded, slowly. “You do have a lot going on, but when our therapy is done, you’ll have full control again…of all of it.” You smiled at him and his face brightened.

“You know, I saw you, when I first woke up from stasis. But even seeing you and having Dr. Bachman mention you at every visit, I still wondered if you were real..” He tapped his temple. “I’m not sure I trust this right now.”

You frowned a bit. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. It was wrong of me.”

“Why _did_ you wait?” he asked, his voice low and non-judgmental.

You narrowed your eyes as you thought about the right words. “I wanted to come with a purpose?” You dropped your gaze to him and turned a bit more. “I’m here to help you, Sergeant Barnes, so –”

“Bucky,” he interrupted.

“Huh?” You looked at him and tilted your head. “Oh, right.” You smiled. “_Bucky_,” you whispered. “No use in getting caught up in formality, right?”

His face changed and he frowned as he dropped his gaze. “I haven’t been Sergeant Barnes in a long time.”

You wanted to hug him. You felt an urgent need to make a connection with him, to help him see that he was still worthy of the title. “Bucky, you had a lot stolen from you. I hope that by the end of our time together, you find that Sergeant Barnes is still there.” You reached out and tapped his chest right at his heart.

He watched your finger tapping and then lifted his gaze back to you. “Dr. Bachman says that I will find a new normal – a kind of _new _James Buchanan Barnes by the time we’re through.”

You nodded. “He’s right. What happens in our lives is what makes us who we are – you haven’t had the agency to choose what parts you wanted to keep,” you rested your hand on his chest, “but you will and that will make you the man you’re meant to be.”

He covered your hand with his and gave a soft laugh. “You and Dr. Bachman are a well-matched pair. He’s said something similar to me almost every day. I’m excited about getting started.”

You put your other hand over his, sandwiching it between yours. “We’ll get there,” you said. “I promise.” You slipped your hands free and rested them in your lap. “Now, do you have any questions for me?”

He grinned. “Lots of them.”

\---

You spent the next hour feeling like you were in an interview of sorts, as Bucky asked you about your family, where you grew up, and how you chose psychology as a profession. His words would slur from time to time and he’d kind of sigh and rest his head against his pillow, closing his eyes. You’d think he had drifted off to sleep just as he’d open them again and look at you. He’d ask for water or shift and reposition on the bed and then ask another question.

The questions became sillier, the further the conversation went. “What’s your favorite kind of shake? Chocolate? Vanilla? Strawberry?”

You smirked. “Everyone knows that chocolate is the best.”

“Hmm. I’m partial to vanilla,” he said, lifting his eyebrows.

“You are not,” you teased, making him laugh.

“You know, you’re right? Chocolate all the way.”

You gave a soft laugh. “I knew it.”

He pushed back against his pillow and groaned, his eyelids heavy. “Not sure if I can battle this medication any longer.” He looked at you. “I just need a little nap. Could you stay?”

“Of course, Bucky, if that’s what you want.” You glanced out the door. “I am going to have to get a chair, though. My back is aching.” You laughed. “Guess I’m getting old, huh?”

“Oh, sure, talk about age with the guy who’s a hundred.”

You laughed, loudly then, covering your mouth. He laughed with you and it made his eyes sparkle. You gave him a very gentle, playful shove. “You look damn good for your age.”

“Thanks,” he sighed before letting a yawn escape, a soft smile on his face.

When his eyes closed, you pushed off the bed and whispered, “I’m just going to get a chair. I’ll be right back.”

He nodded, opening one eye. “Okay,” he whispered back.

\---

And there you sat for another hour, reading through your notes and glancing up at him from time to time, to watch him breathing. He slept peacefully and you were grateful. He deserved rest without nightmares haunting it.

As the clock ticked into the beginning of the second hour of Bucky’s nap, Dr. Bachman came by and stood in the doorway. “How’d it go?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You looked up at him and smiled. “Very well. He knows a helluva lot about me now.”

“That’s good. You’re building a relationship. How long has he been asleep?”

You checked your watch and told him before holding up your notes. “I want to go over the lullaby, when he wakes, if he’s up for it.”

Dr. Bachman nodded. “It won’t hurt to discuss it with him, see how he feels about it.” He glanced behind him and then motioned for you to join him out of the bedroom. When you did, he took your elbow. “Dr. Campbell, his lead physician who was in here earlier told me that they’re considering attaching a new arm on Sergeant Barnes very soon.”

Your eyes grew wide. “When?”

“Possibly the same day they remove the device from his eye, while he’s still under.”

“Isn’t that going to be too much trauma?” You glanced back toward the bed. “That’s an awful lot for him to recover from at once, too.”

“Dr. Campbell has told me that, actually, because Sergeant Barnes’ shoulder is intact and repaired, it should be a relatively easy procedure.” He rested his hand on your shoulder. “They’re concerned about the severity of the Phantom Limb Syndrome on an already damaged brain.”

“And attaching a new arm will make it go away?” you whispered.

“It will help the process move along faster, yes.”

“But what about your desire to wait until the words are broken down in his programming? Didn’t we just spend all that time planning his therapy around the fact that he wouldn’t have a metal arm? If he loses control and has his arm…”

“I know, but –”

You shook your head. “What am I thinking? Never mind.” You waved a hand at him. “We’ll deal with it as it comes. He deserves to be as pain-free as possible and if having a new arm will help, then that’s what has to be done.”

Dr. Bachman smiled. “That’s exactly what I’m thinking. We have to wait for him to recover from his surgery before we can begin our therapy, anyway. That will give us time to reevaluate our approach.”

“You’re not thinking of locking him up or strapping him into a chair, are you?” you asked, worried. You couldn’t imagine seeing Bucky that way.

“No, no…but your lullaby will become significantly more important.” He glanced down at your notes. “How confident are you in your method?”

You swallowed. “I won’t really know until I talk to him about it. I think he’s going to give me some amazing feedback on what will work and what won’t. You were right about him being the most open and willing patient we’ve ever had.”

Dr. Bachman chuckled. “He is amazing. For everything he’s been through, his spirits are high.”

“Best case scenario,” you murmured. “Couldn’t ask for more.” You smiled and then added, “I should get back in there, just in case he wakes up.”

Dr. Bachman patted your shoulder and stepped toward the exit. “I’m proud of you,” he called back, his voice low.

You grinned and then spun on your heel before walking quietly back into the bedroom. Bucky was still sleeping and you just stepped up to the side of the bed and watched him. _All I want is to help you find the life you deserve._

\---

“How’re they doing?” Steve asked, as Dr. Bachman entered the kitchen in the main part of the facility.

“Very well, it seems. Sergeant Barnes is asleep right now, but [Name] said they had a great talk.”

“And what does she think about the arm?”

“She was worried at first but ultimately, agreed that it was best.”

Steve frowned and nodded. “I’m worried, too, but I think he’ll feel better having his arm there again.” He leaned forward on the counter and sighed, “Why does it feel like it’s taking forever to take the next step?”

Dr. Bachman rolled his lips and watched the soldier. “Because ever since you found out that your friend was still alive, you’ve had one mountain to climb after another. Nothing about this has been easy, not for Sergeant Barnes and not for you. And now that we’re here and he’s just weeks away from getting the help he needs, time has slowed down to a crawl in your mind.”

Steve pushed off the counter and covered his face with his hands, pulling them down and sucking in air. “You’re right. It’s so close now. It’s like everything he’s been through was leading to this and his eagerness to be free makes me want it even more for him.”

“We all do, son. It’s okay to be anxious for it, too. It’ll make the accomplishment, his _freedom_, even sweeter.”

Steve looked over at Dr. Bachman and smiled, his face full of relief. “I can’t wait.”

\---

Bucky stirred, rolling a bit from side-to-side before opening his eyes. You were still standing next to his bed, so his gaze fell on you, right away. “Hi,” he whispered, smiling. He rubbed his eyes and ran his hand down his face. “How long was I asleep?”

“Just over an hour. How do you feel?” You set your notes down and stepped over to a rolling table that held his water. “Thirsty?”

He smacked his lips. “Definitely.”

You brought him the water, holding the straw steady, so he could take a few sips. You smiled at him and set the water down. “Better?”

“Yeah, thanks.” He shifted in the bed, twisting his back to break the kinks. He glanced down at your notes and then at you. “So what’s next?”

You sat softly on the bed next to him. “Well, would you be up for discussing the lullaby? I’d love to have your thoughts on it.”

“Sure, lay it on me.”

You gave a soft laugh and picked up your notes. You didn’t really need them. You had every word on the pages memorized by now, but the holding the paper felt like a security blanket of sorts. If nothing else, it would help you focus on the task instead of getting lost in his eyes or his smile. You shook your head a bit. _Where’d that come from? He’s your patient._

You cleared your throat and looked down at the words. “Well, Natasha started hers with the Hulk by saying, ‘Hey, big guy. Sun’s getting real low.’ She then would kneel and put her hand up, like this,” you lifted your hand up toward him, “and once he came toward her and followed suit,” you looked at him and nodded. He brought his hand up toward yours and you continued, “she’d turn and drop her hand, like this,” you showed him and swallowed. “And then he would place his hand here,” you set the notes down on the bed and directed his hand to lay, palm-side down, on yours. “Slide it a bit,” you whispered, nodding. “Like that, yes, and then she would bring her hand around and tap his arm here and then slide her fingers down, all the way to his fingertips, barely grazing his skin.” You watched his face, as you followed through with the actions. “At the end, she pulled her fingers across quickly and it jarred him to where he would go off somewhere and calm down.”

Bucky was watching your hand move down his arm and he was mesmerized. When you flicked your fingers across his fingertips, he blinked and looked up at you. “Y…yeah, I can see how that would work. Is that what you had in mind?”

“Something very similar.” You reached for your notes, but he covered your hand.

“You don’t need those, do you?”

You licked your lips and gave a slight shrug. “No, I guess I don’t.” You smiled.

He returned your smile and tilted his head. “So how would our lullaby go?”


	8. Chapter 8

“Well,” came your trembling response. You cleared your throat and took a breath. “The words obviously need to be different…not that you’re not a ‘big guy,’ especially compared to me.” You smirked and he joined you. “Um, I had a few phrases in mind.” You glanced at your notes. “What’s say we go through them and choose the best one?”

He nodded and smiled. “What’s the first?”

You lifted a finger. “One second,” you murmured before retrieving your phone and starting a recording. “I’d never hear the end of it from Dr. B., if I didn’t record our discussion.” You laughed. “He’s a stickler.”

He watched as you set the phone down and then turned to face him again. You rubbed the back of your neck and sighed, “All right, the first.” You frowned a bit but looked at him directly. “I know that you said you don’t feel like ‘Sergeant Barnes’ is who you are anymore, but –”

“You were thinking of getting my attention by using it,” he stated.

“That was my initial thought. How would you feel about it?” You watched him, carefully, gauging his microburst expressions. He was definitely battling. “You know you can be completely honest with me, right? Anything you say here is between us…and Dr. B.” You offered a smile.

He stared down at his lap and picked at a loose strand in the bedding, working through his thoughts. He let out a long breath and whispered, “When I was captured, the first time,” he lifted his gaze to you, “and Zola decided I was the one he wanted to try his experiments on,” he shrugged, “well, of course, he called me ‘Sergeant Barnes.’” You nodded to encourage him to go on. He rolled his lips. “That’s such a foggy time for me. It’s like those memories are there but just out of reach.” He looked down again.

You tilted your head to catch his gaze. “That’s your body’s natural reaction – to forget the horrifying things. The problem is that our brain often keeps snippets of them and that’s what picks at us, when we’re at our most vulnerable.” You rested your hand over his and waited until he brought his gaze back up to you. “That’s what I’m here for – to help you retrieve your memories and file them in the proper place.”

He stared at you for several seconds, his eyes glossy. “The last time I remember being _myself_, the old me, was when Zola showed up where I was being kept – before the Winter Soldier program truly began – before I received the metal arm. He came into this hospital-type room and said, ‘Sergeant Barnes,’ and in my gut, I knew.” He sniffled and looked away. “I knew that the life I once lived was truly over.”

You leaned forward and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. “Come here,” you whispered and he responded, tugging you close, his right hand pressing into the middle of your back. You shifted a bit and held him. “You _will_ get your life back, Bucky. It may not be what you remember. It very well may be that ‘new you’ that Dr. Bachman spoke with you about, but it will be a life designed by you, as it should be. Your choices. Your decisions. _Your life_. I promise.”

He took a deep breath and you released each other. He sat back and wiped his eyes. “I think I’m tired –”

“Oh?” You scooted back. “You need more rest, then. We can talk about this later, once you’re –”

“No.” He gave a soft laugh through the remnant of tears. “What I was trying to say is that I’m tired of being in this bed.” He looked at you. “Do you think we could go for a walk or something?”

You smirked. “Bucky, you’re heavily medicated and I’m not strong enough to catch you, if you fall.”

“Wheelchair?” he suggested, eyebrows lifted. “I need some fresh air.”

You nodded and slid off the bed. “I’ll go fetch one. There’s a lovely, little enclosed garden not too far from here. I’ve not been in it, but I’ve seen part of it through the windows. I’m sure your doctors would approve.”

He smiled and it reached his eyes. “Thanks.”

You stepped out of the room, calling back, “Give me two minutes!” As you walked out into the hallway, you caught sight of a nurse. “Excuse me? Could you get me a wheelchair? Bucky wants to get some fresh air.”

She frowned a bit. “I’m going to have to call Dr. Campbell first, although Sergeant Barnes has been in that bed for a long time now.” She smiled and waved you over. “Come this way. I’ll call him and if he gives the ‘go ahead,’ we’ll find a wheelchair.”

You followed her around the bend and into a smaller office. She made the call and Dr. Campbell approved, only because there were cameras and he would be monitoring them, just in case Bucky had any trouble.

It took about half an hour, but you and the nurse located a wheelchair with an IV hook attached. You were thrilled, as you hurriedly rolled it back toward Bucky’s rooms. As you got closer, Steve walked out, almost running right into you.

He smiled and put his arm out. “Oh! Sorry!” He glanced down at the chair. “You found one. I was just sent to see if you got lost.”

“Patience is not one of his virtues, hmm?” You chuckled.

“No, it’s not!” Bucky called out, his voice full of humor.

Steve thumbed back toward the room. “He’s glad you’re here,” he said. He laid a hand on your upper arm. “So am I.” He shoved his other hand in his pants pocket and started off. “You two have a good time.”

“Thanks,” you sighed and then turned the wheelchair a bit more, directing it into the room. You pulled a face, as you came into view. “Sorry. It took longer than I thought, but Dr. Campbell gave his approval, so we’re off!” Something crossed on his face and you furrowed your brow. “Still feeling up to it?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, definitely. I need to get out of this room.”

“All right, then.” You grinned and pushed the chair over to the right side of the bed. After pressing the brakes, you helped him into it. “Wow. Even on medication and using one arm, you’re very strong.”

“It’s the serum,” he said, frowning up at you. “That’s probably why the first medication didn’t last against the pain. It affects everything.”

You hung the IV bag on the hook and grasped the handles. “I hadn’t thought of that, but it makes a lot of sense.” You pushed him forward and once you got rolling, it was easy. “I’m sorry you’re having to deal with so much pain.”

As you stepped out into the long corridor, heading toward the small garden, he whispered, “Whatever it takes to be free.”

The garden, as it turned out, was not small by any means. It was enclosed on all sides by the facility, but you couldn’t see from one side to the other. It was vast and absolutely breathtaking. There was ample shade from the trees but also places where you could both soak in some sunlight. It was the perfect setting to continue your talk about the lullaby. _I left my notes in the room! Damn it! And my phone! Ugh._ There was no going back. You were going to have to trust your gut and explain to Dr. B. about not recording the entire session, later.

As you pushed him around the paved pathway, you chatted about the beauty around you, easing yourselves back into the conversation about the lullaby. “Bucky,” you began, “what would you think of me using ‘James’ as a marker?”

He was silent for several minutes, and you let him think it through. There was no reason to press him or try to force an answer. Up ahead, you noticed a wooden bench beneath a tree. You directed the wheelchair over to it and stopped. “This is nice,” he murmured, glancing up at you. “I,” he sighed, “let me sit there with you. We can keep the IV hooked to the chair just –”

You nodded and smiled. “Of course.” You maneuvered the chair so that Bucky could sit on the bench and not have the IV tugging at him. As you sat next to him, a breeze somehow kicked up, ruffling yours and Bucky’s hair. You felt him watching you and touched your cheeks. You were really going to have to get past the way he made you feel, especially if you were going to be any help at all. You sat back and sighed, “It’s beautiful here – like a different world.”

“Yeah,” he whispered, lifting his gaze to look through the trees. “I like the idea of you using ‘James,’ and actually, I have a thought.”

You turned a bit to face him and he looked at you. “Tell me,” you said, eyebrows raised.

He sighed a bit and then frowned, pressing a couple of fingers against his left shoulder.

You shifted and reached out to him. “Are you hurting?”

“Just a twinge. I’m okay,” he sighed. He dropped his hand back and licked his lips. “There’s a memory that I have from back when I was a kid. It’s a persistent one – so there have been a lot of times through the years that it came back to me, as HYDRA’s programming wore off.”

“What is it?” you asked, your voice low.

He looked over at you, a small smile fighting to the surface. “My mother used to always come to my bedroom door at night and say, ‘Lights out, James, it’s getting late.’” He gave a soft laugh. “I never could calm my brain enough to get to sleep, until I heard her say that.”

Your mouth dropped and you repeated it, “Lights out, James, it’s getting late.” You put your hand on his knee and gave it a little shake. “Why that’s perfect! A persistent memory from your childhood, one that calmed you – and you remembered it, all through the years?”

“I used to hear her say it to me, when we were sleeping in trenches on the battle field.” He looked away, his eyes narrowing a bit. “Her voice would break through sometimes, just before they put me in stasis.” His head dropped and he leaned on his elbow. “For the longest time, that was all I remembered about her.”

Tears came, despite your efforts to hold them back. You rested your hand on his left shoulder. “It’s a wonderful memory, Bucky. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

“You really think it’ll work?” he asked, looking over at you.

“I do and, well…I’m ready to show you the lullaby.” You quickly wiped at your tears, rubbing your hands on your thighs. “If you’re ready?” you said, sniffling.

He sat up and smiled at you. “Show me.”

You licked your lips and then rolled them. “So the trigger, attention-grabbing phrase is, ‘Lights out, James, it’s getting late.’” You slid off the bench and knelt in front of him. You lifted your right hand and then nodded. “Just like before.”

He brought his right hand up, holding it just a few inches away from yours. You dropped your hand, palm side up. “All the same, right? But here now is the difference. You’re a sniper, well-trained. Body position is vital for success, especially in hand and elbow placement, right?” He nodded, almost looking shocked that you’d know. You smirked. “I’ve been doing a lot of reading lately.”

You cleared your throat, “So we’re going to focus on your elbow. I want you to rest it here in the palm of my hand, with your palm facing up, as well.” When he did as you asked, you scooted forward a bit to keep the IV tubes from pulling. “There, just rest your arm across mine.” You wrapped your fingers around his elbow, cupping it and looked at him.

“Now, I will take my hand away and bring it here.” You reached toward his shoulder, right where the angry scars met what remained of the metal. You tapped with two fingers at the top of his shoulder and then drew your fingertips down, ever so lightly over his scars to the end. “What I want to generate from this is you then sitting down and taking three _long_ breaths, allowing your body to calm.” You sat back a bit and shrugged. “What do you think?”

He looked at you, eyes glossy. He glanced to his left shoulder and back to you. “I –” he swallowed, “I think we should go through it again, no vocal direction.”

You smiled. “Good idea.” You stood and stepped away from him. “Can you stand? Just right there at the bench without tugging at your IV?”

He nodded and pushed himself up. “Here?”

“Yeah. Okay,” you cleared your throat and approached him, cautiously. “Lights out, James, it’s getting late.” You waited until his eyes locked onto yours and lifted your hand. He lifted his and then you dropped yours to the next position. He paused and then placed his arm over yours, his elbow in the palm of your hand. You cupped it and then brought your hand around, tapping his shoulder and running your fingertips down. He sat on the bench and took three long breaths before looking up at you and smiling.

“That’s going to work, I think, but how do we implement it?” he asked.

You chewed on your bottom lip and moved to sit next to him. “Well, Natasha said that it’s all about consistency and practice. Those words and actions have to become second nature to you.” You dropped your gaze to your lap. “And then the final test is –” your words dropped off and he turned and reached out to cover your hands.

“What is it?”

“We’ll have to do something to upset you in some way.” You shook your head. “Natasha said they had to bring Bruce into the Hulk and then try it out. It…it took a few times.”

He frowned. “You mean, _the_ words? the triggers? I’ll have to become the Winter Soldier?”

You looked at him and shook your head. “No, no, nothing that drastic, but I will have to take you into some of those memories that haunt you. You’ll have to be _angry_ enough to _need_ the lullaby.”

“I see,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry. I wish there was another way. We have to test it in a controlled atmosphere. We can’t leave it to chance.”

“I understand and I’m going to have to deal with those memories, eventually.” He glanced around and sighed, “Think we could walk a bit more?”

“Of course.” You helped him back into the wheelchair and pushed him back onto the path. You walked around the garden, stopping every so often to admire a tree or bush or flower. At one point, you stopped his chair and pressed the brakes. You stepped around to the side and held your arms out. “Isn't the warmth of the sun just glorious?” you whispered. You closed your eyes and tilted your head back.

He watched you turn and spin and thought about how you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Everything about you seemed to glisten, as if you’d swallowed the sun whole and it was lighting up your skin, your face.

When you were out hunting for the wheelchair and Steve had stopped by, he’d admitted as much to his friend.

“There’s something about her and I just…need her here.”

Steve had sat down on the corner of the bed and nodded. “I understand what you mean, but she’s one of your doctors, Buck.”

“I know, but she’s the first face I saw when I came out of stasis – I thought it was an illusion and then today –”

“And you don’t think it’s just because you’ve attached her to your recovery? She’s here to offer you hope for freedom from the programming and ultimately, from HYDRA.”

He pulled himself from his thoughts and furrowed his brow. What if Steve was right? What if the feelings that he has for you are just because you’re here to help him? He shook his head and frowned. _I’ve got to stay focused. I’m her patient. She’s my therapist. That’s it._

“Bucky? You okay?” you asked, crouching down in front of him. “Getting too warm?” You reached up and touched his forehead.

He pulled away. “I’m fine. I, um, I’m just tired. Maybe we should go back?”

Your mouth dropped but you nodded. “Sure. I think we’re closer to the entrance, if we keep going.” You stepped around behind his chair and pushed him forward. “Do you want to talk about the phantom limb pain today or save it?”

“Save it, I guess. I feel like I could sleep for a hundred days.”

You turned a rounded corner and noticed the door up ahead. “I can’t say I blame you. Did you want me to stick around or leave you alone?”

_Stick around. Don’t leave me_. “You can go. I don’t know how long I’ll be out this time. I’ll probably sleep through lunch.”

You jogged over and propped the door open before pushing him inside. “Well, you’ve got my extension, so please call, if you need me.”

“I think you can take the rest of the day off,” he muttered.

_Wow. He has **no** idea what I do._ You frowned. _It’s not his burden or his fault that I’m a workaholic. Maybe I should try to get in a nap._You gave a laugh, obviously forced. “Oh, I’m sure Dr. Bachman has plenty for me to do, but no matter…I’m here, if you –”

“Got it,” he interrupted.

You furrowed your brow, as you pushed him into his living quarters and into the bedroom. After helping him back into the bed, you looked at him and asked, “Is there something wrong? Are you worried about having to be ‘taken’ into a bad place to test the lullaby?”

_That’s the least of my worries right now_. “No, I’m just tired, all right? I think I pushed myself too much.”

You sighed, “I’m sorry. That’s my fault.” You patted his hand and then gave it a squeeze. “I’ll let you get some rest.” You turned and started for the door.

“Stay,” he whispered, so low you barely could make out the word.

You spun on your heel and walked back over to him. “What was that?”

He looked up at you, his eyes searching your face. “I want you to stay.” 


	9. Chapter 9

“Sure,” you returned. You furrowed your brow, reaching back to pull a chair up to the bed. You sat, tentatively, and said, “Bucky, what’s going on? You’re waffling back and forth – going from short responses to pleading.”

He frowned and ran his hand down his face. “I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “I think I’m just…foggy.”

You leaned forward, resting an elbow on the railing that was folded down. “I’m here for _you_. You don’t have to apologize and you definitely don’t have to hold back. If you’re worried or scared, talk to me. Nothing you say could _ever_ change how I see you. You don’t have to be ‘the perfect patient,’ 24/7.” You smirked a bit.

He stared at you for a moment and his face was unreadable, which concerned you. He closed his eyes and lowered his head. “My mind is a jumbled mess. I…I’ve got so many wires crossed. I can’t –” he sighed. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“Bucky,” you whispered, “that’s exactly the way _to_ start.” He looked up at you and you smiled. “It _is_.” You sat up straight and crossed your legs. “Oh, I know it doesn’t feel like it – you want answers. You want to have a complete thought without a thousand others tumbling in on you, but the fact that you’re here and your mind is _working_ – trying to straighten out those crossed wires? That’s a start. And if you’ll trust me, I can help you sort it out.”

He rolled his lips and let out a soft laugh. “I trusted you,” he paused, “I think I trusted you the second I saw you.”

You rewarded him with an even bigger smile. “That’s _so _good to hear. There’s nothing I want more than to help you.”

“I know.” He wrinkled his brow and looked across the room. “It’s strange. I feel connected to you…somehow.”

You swallowed, suddenly aware that your palms were beginning to sweat and your heart was thumping, wildly. You could hear it in your ears and it made you tremble. You cleared your throat and shifted in your seat. “I’m glad. If this therapy is going to work, we need a connection.” He looked at you and your eyes darted around the room. “So, um, how’re you feeling?” You tore your eyes from the painting on the wall and faced him. “Any physical pain?”

_I’ve made her uncomfortable. She’s your therapist. You’re her patient. That’s it. _He coughed into his fist and shook his head. “Not really – a few twinges now and again. Guess whatever they gave me earlier is working.”

“That’s good.” You offered a smile and relaxed. When you focused on your work, it was a little easier to push the inappropriate feelings back. “Do you have any memory of how the phantom limb pain begins?”

“It’s much more than a twinge or two and it comes on very fast, especially after I’ve been sleeping for a while.” He turned a bit on the bed, letting his hip carry most of his weight, to give his back a break. “Before the pain started, I had vivid nightmares. Now, it’s like the pain is there and the nightmares are hidden.” He frowned. “Does that make sense?”

You nodded, vigorously, and leaned forward again. “Perfect sense, actually. You’re still having nightmares – and they’re most likely triggering your pain – but the pain is so intense that _it _is what wakes you up.”

“Of course,” he said, yawning.

You chuckled a bit. “We did come back here because you’re tired. Are the twinges of pain keeping you from resting?”

He shook his head. “No – but I can’t,” he sighed, “_sleep_. It’s like my body is tired but my mind is running.”

“Well, let me try a few things – see if I can soothe your mind and help you rest.” When he nodded at you, you stood and leaned over him, running your thumb across his forehead. “I’d try using the lullaby, but I want to save that for…its specific purpose.”

“Makes sense,” he sighed, closing his eyes.

You watched as his body relaxed a little. “Now,” you murmured, “I want you to concentrate on your breathing – focus on the air flow, into your body and out. Imagine as the air leaves, your upper body is relaxing and as it enters, your lower body is relaxing. Let your breathing be natural – no effort.” You ran your thumb across his forehead again and down the side of his cheek.

You stepped back and turned off the overhead lights in the bedroom only, leaving the soft lights from the living space filtering in. You returned to the bed, finding him with one eye open. You smirked and touched his shoulder. “Would you rather sleep with the lights on?”

“No,” he whispered. “Tell me how to breathe again.”

You chuckled then and shook your head. “You’re incorrigible.” You reached out and ran your thumb across his forehead again and down his cheek. “Think about the garden, the way the trees sound, when a breeze blows through them, the way the sun makes soft shadows on the paved stones.”

_The way you looked when you spun in the sunlight, your arms held out. The way your eyes draw me in, when you gaze at me._

You let the room go silent, as you watched him breathe. His body settled against the bed and soon, it was clear that he was asleep. You smiled and sat in your chair, as quietly as possible. You glanced over and realized that your phone was still on – still recording – and carefully picked it up and shut it off.

Footsteps shuffled up behind you and you turned, finding Dr. Bachman in the doorway. “May I speak with you?” he whispered.

You nodded, rising, grimacing at every squeak and pop from the chair. You glanced at Bucky once before exiting and pulling the door to just a crack. You were still holding your phone but you crossed your arms. You’d seen the look Dr. B. was holding before and it’d never led to a happy conversation. “What’s wrong?” you asked. “Is it about his arm? His surgery?”

He dropped his head and then motioned for you to join him on the overstuffed couch against the wall. When you were seated, he leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Dr. Chapman and King T’Challa have both confirmed that Bucky’s new arm is ready and will be attached after they remove the device from his eye.”

You sat back, relieved and wondering why he didn’t look relieved, too. “Well, that’s good, unless you’re still worried about taking him through therapy with his arm in place?”

He sighed and his shoulders drooped a bit. “I was watching the surveillance video from the garden and the ones in the rooms. There's no sound, but – ” He frowned. “[Name], I’m concerned about _you_.” 

“Me?” You gaped at him. “Why?” You sat up, setting your phone on the table. “I mean, I know I haven’t been sleeping much, but this is important to me. There’s no way I’ll let my tiredness affect my job. I hope you know –”

“It’s not about your lack of sleep, although, now that you mention it, it does concern me.” He shook his head. “Another time.” He looked at you. “[Name], I want you to listen to me – all the way through, no interruptions, all right?”

You licked your lips and nodded, but you were trembling. You clenched your hands into fists and released them, trying to calm down. “I’m listening.”

“Psychology, psychiatry – no matter the field, it requires us to know our patients, intimately, personally – to be involved with them on an emotional level. We build a trust with them, so that they feel free to open up to us.” He sighed again, “Let me tell you something I’ve never told another soul before.”

He sat back and rubbed his face before dropping his hands in his lap. “Years ago, when I first opened my practice, I had a patient – a woman – who was deeply hurt. Her husband left her for another woman and she just found out she was pregnant. She didn’t want to give up the child, but she was scared and very alone. She had depression and anxiety, so she came to me for help.” He lifted his gaze to you. “And in the process of me helping her – it happened very fast – she began to express romantic feelings for me.” He rolled his lips and sighed, “And I’ll admit, I let myself care for her more than what’s ethically responsible.”

You sat, blinking at him. He didn’t need to explain why he was telling you the story, why he was admitting to having dealt with transference. Your head began to throb. Whenever you blinked, little white and black spots would appear. _How does he know that I’ve been developing…_ You frowned, as the headache grew. _From the surveillance. Was it that obvious?_

“And I had to make a decision, [Name]. In my particular case, either I stepped away, sending her to a new doctor, or I faced the inappropriate feelings head-on and tried to work through it with her. In the end, I had to contact a colleague and send my patient to her.” His eyebrow raised. “Do you understand where I'm going with this?”

You blinked back tears. “You think I have feelings for Bucky? Unethical…inappropriate feelings?”

“Do you?”

The question was so simple in form – two words, but they hung in the air, almost taunting you. “I’ve been, I don’t know, catching myself blushing when he looks at me. Sometimes, um, my heart speeds up around him.” You shook your head and then buried your face in your hands. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

“It’s not as unnatural as you might think,” he offered. “You’ve been studying Bucky’s past – all those folders and documents? That’s unlike _anything_ we’ve had available to us before. You met him in person, talked with him for the first time today and yet, you know him better than some patients you’ve spent weeks with – all because of those _files_. You’ve created an image in your head and then there he is in the flesh.”

You dropped your hands and groaned, falling back against the couch. “So you’re taking me off of working with him?” you whispered.

“There lies the problem. I need you. You have the lullaby. You have other abilities, where I am weak. There is no ‘sending him to another doctor’ here.” He leaned across the couch and took your hands, shaking them. “[Name], I need you to squelch it. Whatever feelings you have toward him must be purely from a therapist’s point-of-view. Can you do that?”

You looked at him, wide-eyed. “I _will_ do it. Whatever it takes.” A tear slipped down your cheek. “I’m so sorry, Dr. B. I bet you wished you’d chosen a better assistant.”

He released your hands and shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. There is _no _better and I know you, [Name]. I believe in you. And I trust that you will put out the appropriate fires?” He smirked a bit.

You wiped your cheeks and gave a small laugh. “Absolutely…”

“And he doesn’t return the feelings?” he asked.

You gaped at him. “His mind is a jumbled mess.” You glanced down at your phone. “Those were his exact words, actually. I can’t imagine there being room for anything else.” You reached out and picked up your phone. “Here…let me find it, although,” you frowned, “there’s going to be some dead air. I accidentally left it in the room, when we went for our walk.” As you tapped on the screen, you smiled. “We worked out the lullaby, though and I’m excited about it.”

“That’s wonderful!” he said, grinning. “You’ll have to share it with me.”

“I will – he wanted me to stay with him, while he slept.” You looked up for a moment. “He’s worried about the phantom limb pain. We connected it to his nightmares.”

“Of course, of course…” He watched, as you opened the audio file.

“Here, let me just…” You slid your finger across to start it at the beginning. Your finger slipped when it was just past halfway back.

“…you don’t think it’s just because you’ve attached her to your recovery? She’s here to offer you hope for freedom from the programming and ultimately, from HYDRA.”

You furrowed your brow. “That’s Steve,” you whispered, suddenly remembering that he was leaving the room, as you came back with the wheelchair.

“It’s more than my recovery. She’s _beautiful _and funny. I love the way she laughs.”

You trembled, as you stared at your phone. _Is he talking about me?_

“Bucky, you can’t let yourself –,” Steve sighed. “She’s your therapist. You’re her patient. That’s it.”

“You think I don’t realize that? That I’m not punishing myself at every thought?”

You swallowed and looked up at Dr. Bachman. His face was almost gray, lines drawn in concern.

“I need her, Steve. That’s all I know – and it’s not easy for me to admit.”

“I think I hear her out in the hall,” Steve whispered. “We’ll talk more later. Just…_think _about what I said before – this might just be because she’s here to help.”

Fresh tears popped up in your eyes. It seemed impossible _and _it jeopardized your work. It was one thing to blush in his presence, to have your heart thumping whenever you caught him looking at you. It was another to know he felt the same way. You could wrangle in your own feelings, but what about his? “Dr. B. say someth –”

“We’re going to have to step away,” he whispered. His face was stricken. “We cannot delve deeper into his psyche, help him recover from the programming –” He shook his head. “I’ll have to speak with King T’Challa right away.” He pushed up off the couch and started out of the room.

Your voice was lost or you would call to him. When you heard yourself come through on the recording, you angrily stopped it and tossed your phone on the couch. You stood up and began to shake, your mind racing. You’d done it. You’d somehow managed to ruin _everything_.

Before Dr. Bachman stepped out into the hallway, he turned and marched back to you. He took your hands again and looked you straight in the eye. “This is not your fault. Do you hear me? It happens every day in this profession. You are an excellent psychologist, top of the line – _none_ better. Are you hearing me? You did nothing wrong.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks and you slowly shook your head. _I’ve ruined everything._

Shuffling came through the small crack in the bedroom door, Bucky’s voice filtered out, “[Name]? Where…where are you?”


	10. Chapter 10

You cleared your throat and wiped your cheeks, giving Dr. Bachman a side-eyed glance before turning toward Bucky’s bedroom. You pushed on the door, just a little and peered in. “You all right? Are you in pain? Is that what woke you?”

Bucky tilted his head. He couldn’t quite make out the features of your face, since the light was behind you, but he could hear tears in your voice. “A twinge in my shoulder with some radiating pressure. It’s gone now,” he whispered. “Are _you_ okay?”

“Yeah…uh, yeah, I’m fine, Bucky. Dr.,” you cleared your throat, “Bachman is here and I’m updating him on our work today, so far.” You tried to end it with a lilt in your voice but you failed miserably. You licked your lips and swallowed. “I’ll be back in a minute, okay? Try to rest.”

He furrowed his brow. “[Name], if you need to get some work done, you don’t have to come back in here.”

“I’m coming back, Bucky. I’ll stay with you, just like I said I would.” Your words came out harsher than you’d intended, but it felt like Dr. Bachman was boring a hole in the back of your head. You put your hand up on the door jamb and shakily exhaled, “Everything’s okay. I promise. Give me a few minutes.” Before he could respond, you slipped out and pulled the door up.

When you turned to face your boss, his lips were drawn in a tight line. “We _can’t_ stay here and help him, [Name],” he breathed, his voice low. “Romantic entanglements breed trouble, _every_ time.”

Your eyes flashed and you stepped up to him, finger pointing at his chest. You clenched your jaw and whispered, angrily, “You _know_ that I respect you – there is _no one_ I want to emulate more, both in practice and in life, but this time, _you_ _are_ **_wrong_**.” You pointed back to Bucky’s bedroom. “He trusts us, and you _know_ how hard that must be for him, after everything he’s been through.”

Dr. Bachman took a step back and put his hand on his face, tugging it down as he sighed, “And the fact that you have romantic feelings for each other?”

You swallowed and then trembled. “Let’s get out of here. I don’t want him overhearing this.”

“All right,” he returned. You led the way, yanking the door open. When you stepped out, your head down, you nearly ran right into Steve, who was carrying a tray of food.

He managed to keep the tray balanced, as he chuckled. “We’ve got to stop almost running into each other like this,” he said. His focus was on the tray and its contents, so you slipped out of the way, letting him enter.

“He just woke up,” you murmured, “and I bet he’s hungry. Good timing.”

Steve glanced at Dr. Bachman and frowned. “I, uh, just brought enough for [Name] and Bucky. Sorry about that, Dr. B.”

“It’s fine.” The doctor smiled and nodded toward the room. “[Name] and I need to talk for a few minutes, so it’s good that you’re here. Why don’t you go on and take it into him?”

“Sounds good. Where are you two headed?” Steve asked and for the first time, his gaze landed on _you_. His mouth dropped in surprise at seeing your eyes and the tip of your nose red, obviously from crying. He started to ask but Dr. B. interrupted him.

“Just across the hall, Steve. There’s a room that stays empty most of the time. I often use it to go over my notes, when Sergeant Barnes is resting.” He took your elbow and directed you. “We’ll see you in a few minutes,” he called back.

Steve waited until you and Dr. Bachman were gone to turn and step into the bedroom. “Hey, Bucky, are you hungry?” he asked, as he flicked on the light and then glanced back at across the hall.

“I could eat, I guess,” Bucky returned. He pushed the button on the bed to raise it, but his thoughts weren’t on food.

After setting the tray down on the rolling table, Steve lifted an eyebrow to Bucky and asked, “Why was [Name] crying?”

Bucky stopped shifting around on the bed and sighed, “She was, wasn’t she.”

“Looked like it. Her eyes were red and glossy.”

Bucky bit on his top lip and then shook his head. “I couldn’t see her face but I could hear something in her voice.”

“So what happened?”

Bucky leaned forward, trying to look out, but he was too far from the doorway. “She…she was talking to Dr. Bachman, when I woke up. I…I don’t know.” He swallowed. “He said they were talking about me. Do you know? Is something wrong…with my surgery or –”

“No.” Steve shook his head and glanced back out into the hall. The door you and Dr. Bachman went through was still opened and he could see you pacing, your hands covering your face from time to time. “It seems serious, though.”

\---

Dr. B. shoved his hands in his pockets and watched as you walked back and forth, tracing an invisible line on the floor. “[Name], I…I know it would be difficult to find someone else to –”

“Difficult?” you scoffed. “Doctor, it’s _not_ possible, not now. We _can’t_ do that to him. He’s in good spirits, yes, but that’s because he believes in _us_. We can’t walk away from him.”

“What alternative is there? You’re both carrying around these,” he flicked his hand, “_romantic_ _interests_ towards the other.”

His choice of words made you smirk. “Eloquently put, Dr. B.” You stopped in your tracks and put your hands on your hips. “We _like_ each other, yes.” You shrugged. “I think he’s sweet and funny. He’s so thoughtful,” you furrowed your brow, “and really _very_ smart.” You looked at Dr. B. with wide eyes. “And I know it’s wrong of me to let myself see him that way, but it is what it is. I’m attracted to him, but it doesn’t mean I have to show it or do anything about it.”

He lifted his hands up and then dropped them. “All right and what about his feelings for you?”

“I don’t _know_ the extent of his feelings. You heard everything that I heard. Seems innocent enough, though, doesn’t it?”

He shook his head. “It’s troubling. I –”

“Listen,” you sighed, gazing up at the ceiling, “it’s not like we’ve _acted_ on our feelings or that we _will_ act on them. We’re not _dating_. We’re not _in love_ with each other. It’s a connection and yes, and perhaps on his end of things, it’s simply built around the fact that I’m here to help him.” You looked over at your boss. “But isn’t that a good thing, in a way? He feels close to me,” you shrugged again, “and if his feelings fall away once his therapy is complete, then so be it. At least maybe his feelings now will help him get through the hell he’s about to face.”

Dr. Bachman’s eyebrows shot up. “And what about your heart, my dear?” he asked. “If his feelings fade at the end and yours have grown, what then?”

You looked across the room at a painting hanging over a small couch. You gave a soft laugh. “Well, it’s not really about _me_, is it? It’s about what’s best for _him_. Yes, I care about him, but if at the end of his therapy, I have to walk away, then that’s what I’ll do. And I’ll do it with my head held high, because the truth is…I’ll be a hell of a lot better off just having known him.”

Dr. Bachman let out a long sigh, “Self-sacrifice is a lot more painful than what you’re expecting, I think. In the short time I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you have romantic feelings for anyone, and yet, here you are with a patient who has a long road ahead.”

You let out a long breath. “I never expected it to happen this way, either, you know.” You licked your lips and then rolled them. “But here we are and we have a decision to make.” You looked at him. “As far as I’m concerned…We. Can. Not. Leave.”

Dr. Bachman crossed the room and stood in front of you. “All right.” You gaped at him, wide-eyed. He smiled and shrugged. “You’re right. It would be as if we were _abandoning_ him.” He sighed, “We’ll stay, but you need to talk to him – make things clear. His therapy, his _health_…it comes first.”

Your bottom lip trembled and you nodded, as tears filled your eyes. You leaned forward and gave him a hug. “Thank you,” you managed. He gasped and then gave a soft laugh.

“You’re welcome, my dear. You are good for us, you know – me and Bucky, both.”

When you pulled back, you wiped at your cheeks and smiled. “I love that you’re calling him Bucky now,” you said. He grinned and you returned it. “I…I suppose I should get back in there. He’s got to be wondering what’s going on.”

Dr. B. nodded. “Go,” he said. “I’ll catch up with you this evening concerning the lullaby.”

You stepped around him. “I can’t wait to tell you all about it,” you called back.

\---

While you and Dr. Bachman had been sorting through things, Bucky and Steve had continued their conversation from earlier that day.

“So have you thought any more about what we discussed?” Steve asked.

“Of course, it’s all I think about.” Bucky sat, staring down at his food. When Steve had first brought it in, his stomach rumbled, but then Steve confirmed you’d been crying and his appetite disappeared.

“And?” Steve prodded.

“_And_? And I care about her and _no_, I don’t think it’s just because she’s here to help me. I mean, maybe the fact that she and Dr. Bachman were brought here prompted it.” Steve lifted an eyebrow and Bucky rolled his eyes. “Only because it got me to look her up online. Did you know she’s written papers? I wondered, at first, how T’Challa found the two of them, until I searched myself.” He pressed his head back against the pillow, his eyes lighting up. “And…I don’t know, Steve…she’s _amazing_. You should read her stuff. She’s so _compassionate_. She truly cares about people.”

Steve nodded. “Can’t disagree there.” He sat on the end of the bed, facing his friend. “So you read articles and –”

“And then I met her.” He laughed, softly. “It was like everything I thought about her, the way I imagined her…it turned out to be true.”

Steve gave a half smile. “She is pretty great.”

Bucky pushed himself up straighter and raised his eyebrows. “Wait. You’re not just trying to discourage me so you can swoop in and woo her yourself, are you?”

“Swoop in and woo her?” Steve chuckled. “Step into the 21st century, Buck,” he teased. “You make even _me_ sound modern.”

“You’re skirting around the question.”

Steve brought up his hands in surrender. “I wouldn’t dream of,” he smirked, “_swooping_ in and wooing her. I promise.” He chuckled. “I just…she _is_ a genuinely good person. I didn’t realize you’d read up on her work, or about her. Learned a lot, huh?”

“Yeah – but I learned even more this morning, just spending a few hours with her. The lullaby? We came up with it together. I mean, I helped her with the words and then she went through the actions that follow…I think it’s going to work.”

“That’s great.” Steve nodded and then frowned.

“What?”

Steve stood and stepped closer to his friend, keeping his voice just above a whisper, “So you have all these feelings for her, but what if –,” he dropped his head and sighed.

“What if she doesn’t feel the same?” Bucky finished. Steve nodded. “I actually don’t expect her to.” He lifted his arm and then pointed at his metal shoulder. “I’m not exactly the catch of the, uh, _21st century_.” He smirked. “It’s okay, Steve. It’s really enough for her to be here. I’m not setting myself up, okay? I know better than to expect anything.”

Steve sighed, his eyebrows stitched together in worry. “All right, I won’t bother you about it anymore, but if you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

Bucky put his hand out and Steve shook it. “Thanks, punk.”

Steve laughed. “_Jerk_.”

You pushed the door open, not really surprised to find them laughing together. “Hey,” you began. Steve turned and Bucky looked at you, “mind if I talk with Bucky alone for a minute?”

Steve glanced at his friend and then smiled at you. “Sure. I think I’ll go see if Dr. Bachman wants to give me another shot at chess. He still nearby?”

You nodded, your eyes on Bucky. “Uh, yeah, he’s still across the hall, I think.” With that, Steve stepped around you and disappeared out the door. You glanced at the food on the table in front of Bucky. “Not hungry?”

He tapped the tray and sighed, “Not really.” He looked at you. “So you were crying earlier?” When you gaped at him, he gave a hesitant half-smile. “Your eyes are red, and I could hear it in your voice before.”

You frowned and moved to sit on the bed, the rolling table between you. “We need to talk.”

He sat up a little straighter and nodded. “Okay, what about?”

You tried to focus your gaze on his face, but your eyes kept darting all around. The light caught in them, making them glisten and his breath hitched. You stared at him for several seconds, unable to form words. His features were so sharp and well-defined. You’d never seen anyone more handsome. Even with those angled features, he didn’t look like a hardened, ex-assassin who’d just spent a year in cryofreeze.

He smirked at you and touched your arm. “Did I lose you?” he asked.

You swallowed and shook your head. “Sorry. It’s just that…um, remember when I set my phone to record our session?” You furrowed your brow and he nodded. “It was, uh, still recording when you and Steve were in here talking – you know, when I went to get the wheelchair?”

His face paled and he dropped his gaze. “Shit,” he muttered.

“Shit, indeed,” you returned. “Dr. Bachman wanted to talk to T’Challa…to find someone else to –”

“What?” Bucky interrupted, sitting up and leaning forward. “You can’t go. Listen, I –”

“Bucky, it’s okay.” You rested your hand on his arm. “We talked it through, but him initially saying that we were going to have to leave is why I was crying. I didn’t want to go. _And_…I pled my case.” You smiled at him. “It wasn’t too hard. He didn’t want to leave, either.” You sighed, “So we decided, together, that it would be best to stay and help you.”

He sat back and breathed a sigh of relief. When you dropped your gaze, he whispered, “You don’t have to…to feel the same, you know,” he whispered. “I’m strong enough. I…I can push back what I feel.” He turned in the bed, sliding the table out of the way to let his feet fall over the side of the bed. He scooted next to you and nudged your shoulder. “All I need is for you to be here. _Your_ presence is _part_ of the lullaby. It’s your delivery that makes it _work_.”

Him being so close made you warm. You could feel your cheeks flush, so you stood and crossed your arms in front of you. You took a few steps away from the bed and then turned. “What if I told you that I do feel the same?”

His mouth dropped. “What?”

You rolled your eyes and sighed, “The way you feel about me.” You pointed at him and then to yourself. “I…I feel the _same_ about you.” You shrugged and turned toward a lamp in the corner, leaning your shoulder against the wall. “I’m…I’m attracted to you. I think you’re _wonderful_,” you whispered. “But I…I’ve crossed a line and it almost ended everything.”

He stared at you for a moment, still trying to absorb what you just said. He tilted his head and furrowed his brow. “But it didn’t. You’re still here.”

“I am. I’m here to help you break out of HYDRA’s programming.” You looked at him and pressed your upper back against the wall, almost curving out from it. You kept your arms crossed in front of you and frowned. “You know we can’t pursue our feelings, right? Not until your therapy is through. It’s too complicated.”

He let out a long breath and nodded before pushing himself up off the bed. He steadied himself and then crossed the room. You instinctively dropped your arms, as he approached and stood a little straighter. “Complicated,” he whispered.

You nodded and licked your lips. “It…it’s frowned upon.”

His eyes searched your face and he bit the corner of his lip. “Just _one_ kiss?”

“_Bucky_…” you moaned.

He smirked and leaned toward you. “A celebratory one?”

“No.” You shook your head and slipped around him. “We _really_ can’t. It’s unprofessional.”

He turned and watched as you walked to the other side of the room and rested your hands on the metal railing. His eyes were full of mischief, as he returned to the bed, climbing onto it, balancing on his knees. “What about after I wake from surgery?” he asked. “I mean, you’ll be there, when I wake up, right?” You nodded, a smirk still curling your lips. “Could I get a kiss then?”

You sighed and dropped your head back to look up at the ceiling for a moment. “You’ve _got_ to help me with this, Bucky. We need to show Dr. B. that it was a _good_ idea, me staying here to help you.” You looked at him and your focus fell to his lips. _Damn, his lips_. You swallowed and glanced away. “You know, you really should be resting or…or maybe you should try eating. Aren’t you hungry? You’ve got to be by now, and Steve brought you a sandwi –”

“Lights out, [Name], it’s getting late,” he murmured, a smirk curling his lips. Your mouth dropped and you crossed your arms. He could tell by the flame in your eyes, you were about to cut loose. He chuckled and reached out to touch your arm. “_Easy_ now. You’re trembling – just thought I’d see if the lullaby works both ways.” 


	11. Chapter 11

_Five days later…_

You touched the leaves dangling from the trees just outside the facility, as you walked along a path. You’d thought about spending time in the atrium-styled garden inside, but changed your mind at the last minute. You needed to get away from the feeling of being “walled-in.”

Bucky was in surgery, the device being removed from his eye first and then the new arm attached. It would take hours. It’d been hours already. Dr. Bachman and Steve were in the waiting area just outside the surgical wing. You kept your phone handy, since they promised they’d call, as soon as they knew anything.

Sam Wilson, The Falcon, had arrived the day before and you’d sat like an audience member, watching the way he and Bucky engaged in conversation. It reminded you of a pair of grumpy old men, what with the snappy comebacks and rattling dialogue. Even in their short time around each other, they’d built a lot of history.

\---

_“You kicked me first! And in the head, I might add.”_

_“You were about to shoot at Steve. What was I supposed to do? Fly by and watch?”_

_Bucky rolled his eyes. “That wasn’t me. None of the times you’re bringing up in front of [Name] were me. It was the brainwashing.”_

_Sam smirked over at you. “She should know what she’s getting into.” He flashed a grin at Steve, nodding toward him. “And she won’t get the full story from that one. He looks at you through rose-colored glasses. Old war buddy…best friends since childhood…blah blah.”_

_You chuckled. “Steve puts Bucky first, but I think that’s because he puts everyone above himself.”_

_“I’m right here,” Steve grumbled._

_You stepped over to him, putting your hand on his upper arm. “You’re right. I apologize.” You dropped your hand and nudged him with your elbow, making him smile. You then drew your focus back to Sam. “Surely you have some good things to remember? You fought side-by-side at that airport in Leipzig.”_

_“Ha,” Bucky scoffed. “Before the battle, Steve found this ridiculous car and Sam took the front seat, every time…wouldn’t even move up, so I could stretch my legs.”_

_“Nope. I wouldn’t,” Sam muttered, a smirk still curling his lips. “It hadn’t been that long since you’d thrown me across the room, by my head.”_

_“The Winter Soldier did that,” Bucky sighed, a small grin appearing. “I remember it, though…now.” He sat up a little straighter. “That kid with the webs was about to take you out and I jumped in front of you and took the hit.”_

_Sam folded his arms. “Yeah, so we could both go crashing down to the floor below. Great plan.”_

_You shook your head and stepped over next to Bucky. You gently brushed some hair from his forehead and smiled at him. “Sounds like you two make quite a team.”_

_“That’s what you got from all this?” Sam said, his eyes wide._

_You rested your hand on Bucky’s shoulder and faced Sam. “Oh, I think you like each other more than you’re letting on.”_

\---

You smirked a little and continued your walk through the low-hanging trees. You glanced over at the tall buildings, all connected in a row. Sam was in that waiting room, too, and despite his and Bucky’s further protests, you could tell the men cared for each other. You’d even overheard them laughing together late into the evening, several hours after dinner.

You stepped into the sun and pulled your sunglasses back down over your eyes. It was a warm day and the birds were singing loudly from the branches above. Being outside was meant to be a distraction, but the past week’s events played out in your head anyway.

Sam’s visit had been a surprise. Ever since Steve freed him from the Raft, he’d gone on underground missions, collecting intel on various people, including those who’d so adamantly demanded the Accords be signed.

You’d long since changed your feelings about the Accords, even with the memory of your friend’s passing lingering around you. Did the Avengers need some regulation? Perhaps. Did you trust the governments at hand to deal with the Avengers fairly? Hell no. Not once you found out there had been a kill order set against Bucky.

How easily were these people influenced by the media? They actually believed Bucky was the one who blew up the U.N. in Vienna? You frowned. So had you. You’d once believed the worst about him without any evidence. Still. You would never have wished him dead! You were an advocate for rehabilitation _and_ for justice. Sending out forces to murder someone on sight went against everything you knew to be true about humanity.

You stopped near a grove of trees, finding a bench hidden beneath them. You pushed your sunglasses back and sat looking out across an open field that extended further than your eyes could see. It afforded such breathtaking views, and you instantly decided you’d want Bucky to see them.

Your time spent with Bucky over the last five days had been better than you could’ve hoped for. You’d spent hours practicing the lullaby, even to the point where you could walk into the room, say the words, and Bucky would stop whatever he was doing and stand to face you. You’d step through the lullaby, his eyes locked with yours, and he would sit and take three long breaths.

Of course, a grin would then curl his lips and his eyes would sparkle, and you knew you’d need a real test to make sure the lullaby was truly effective.

You spent a great deal of time talking about yourselves, too. His memories were still sketchy, but more of them would surface each day. You avoided talking about his missions as The Winter Soldier, only because you weren’t to that point in his therapy, yet. You needed to fill his mind with the good, let him _feel_ _good_ about himself for a change, so that he could cling to those, when the worst memories showed up.

His Phantom Limb pain reared its ugly head a few more times, but you’d yet to use the lullaby for it. The medication his doctors had found worked wonders for him, so you let the medicine do its job, instead.

The more time you spent with Bucky, the more you liked him. Even with such varied pasts, you shared a lot of the same ideals. He was thoroughly fascinated by your knowledge of the mind. He’d ask questions every day, until you finally decided maybe some of your textbooks would be interesting to him. Might even do him some good, too, knowing what was coming.

You leaned back against the cool of the bench and sighed. Bucky held your hand a lot. You’d sit next to him on his bed and he’d take your hand, his thumb running across the back of it. It was all you would allow and all he would attempt. You were being as careful as you could, and Dr. B. hadn’t said anything to you about “going too far.” This whole thing was going to work. You couldn’t wait.

You closed your eyes, letting the breeze and the shade of the trees keep you cool. What would the future bring? Dare you dream? Your mind fluttered. The first kiss. Him holding you in his arms. His fingertips running across your skin. His lips on your shoulder, your neck, tracing a path down – “Stop!” you whispered, shifting on the bench and opening your eyes. It was so easy to get carried away, where Bucky was concerned.

“[Name]?” came a woman’s voice. You couldn’t see her, but you could hear her stepping through the grass.

You stood and stepped out of the grove, finding a beautiful blonde with a friendly smile. She looked familiar, but you couldn’t quite place her, at first. _The picture in Steve’s wallet. Sharon Carter_. You smiled back at her. “Sharon?”

Her mouth dropped a bit. “That’s right.” She stuck her hand out. “Steve said you were out here. I hope I’m not bothering you.”

You shook her hand and motioned back toward the bench. “Not at all. It’s nice to finally meet you. Steve says very little about himself but he’s definitely mentioned you – with a blush to his cheeks, I might add.”

She chuckled and followed, as you sat together on the bench. “He’s a great guy.” She sighed, “It’s _complicated_.”

“Is it ever _not_ complicated?” you asked.

She nodded. “Good point.” She touched your arm. “I didn’t come out here to talk about me, though. How’re you holding up?”

You lifted an eyebrow. “Steve told you about me and Bucky, didn’t he?”

She smirked. “He…might’ve mentioned it.”

You sighed and shook your head. “He’s like one of those old ladies at the hair salon, gossiping about everyone else. I told him the only reason he spends so much time talking about other people is because he’s trying to avoid talking about himself.”

She sat back and tilted her head a bit. “That’s exactly it. He worries about everyone, constantly checking in on me and Natasha and Wanda and Sam, even Clint and Scott – but when I ask him how he’s doing, I can almost see the shrug of his shoulders, as he says, ‘I’m fine.’”

“I’m cutting away at that wall, slowly. He wants to be a part of Bucky’s recovery, but Dr. Bachman has all but forbid it, unless Steve deals, at least in some part, with his guilt.”

She crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap. “He’s carrying a lot of it, although, I think helping Bucky escape capture,” she glanced at you, “and Tony’s _vengeance_ has helped a lot.”

“I agree. Even bringing Bucky here, under T’Challa’s care, has gone a long way in helping him. I haven’t been able to spend as much time as I’d like with him, but our sessions will start in earnest tomorrow. I think we’ll both feel better once Bucky’s surgeries are complete.”

She put her hand on your knee and gave you a smile. “We’re all ready to check off that box.”

You covered her hand and then took it, giving it a squeeze. “Have I mentioned that I’m glad you’re here?”

\---

Over the next hour, you and Sharon sat together, discussing everything from her missions to your experiences with Dr. Bachman, conveniently leaving out any further mentions of Bucky or his surgery. Every minute that passed with no news, you grew more anxious. Sharon could sense it and chose her stories, wisely, regaling you with mishaps that she’d experienced over the years. Making you laugh had become her mission, and she’d done a hell of a job.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you retrieved it, answering without even really focusing on the caller. “Hello?”

“Hey, [Name], the surgeon is here,” Steve said.

You stood and Sharon joined you, as you walked back toward the facility. “I’m on my way. Has he said anything, yet? Any look on his face you could read? A smile? A frown?”

“[Name].”

“Does he look content or worried? What do you think?”

“[Name]!” Steve chuckled. “He looks _relieved_ but I asked him to wait until you were here to fill us in. I’m guessing Sharon found you, right?”

“Yeah, she’s here. Thanks. She’s been a godsend.” You could almost feel him smiling.

“I’m glad. Where are you?”

“Just entering the building. Give us two minutes.”

You and Sharon entered the small waiting room, your eyes darting around to each face until you landed on the surgeon. Steve nodded at the man and he began, “Both surgeries went very well. The device was removed, cleanly and sent to be examined. I’m very grateful for the robotic technology available. His vision will not be affected, although he will have to wear a patch for a few days, once the bandages are removed.” He stepped forward, his hands clasped together. “The new arm is quite spectacular. It was a very intricate surgery, attaching what qualifies as his nervous system together from his shoulder through his arm.”

“You said both went well?” you asked, hugging yourself.

“Yes, they did. The arm will need virtually no recovery whatsoever. Most he will need is physical therapy to become accustomed to having an arm again and what it can do.” He shook his head, a huge grin on his face. “Quite spectacular.”

You glanced around the room and then asked, “Do you think having his arm back will help with his Phantom Limb symptoms? Or will he still experience pain?”

The surgeon nodded. “It’s psychological, as you know, but yes, I do believe having his new arm will help. He will have something to touch, to move and feel with – that will give him much relief.”

You placed your hand on your heart and sighed, “Thank you. Can I go see him?”

“He’s not awake, yet, but, of course, you may go. He’s in room 3.”

You glanced around the room again, suddenly aware that everyone else had remained quiet, letting you ask the questions. You couldn’t have been more grateful. You winked at Steve and then Sam and smiled at T’Challa, Dr. B., and finally Sharon before stepping past the doctor and through the doors to the recovery rooms. Chatter filled the waiting area, when you left, making you smirk. They were all filled with questions but held them to let you speak.

You walked toward Bucky’s room, as quietly as possible. There were no other patients, but you always felt compelled to be silent in a hospital setting. Pushing the door open, you stepped inside. Bucky was definitely still out, but he looked peaceful. Thick bandages covered his left eye.

You moved closer and looked down at his new metal arm. The doctor was right. It was spectacular. T’Challa had told you everything about it, but seeing it in person took your breath away. It was shiny, made of vibranium, and had a white star on the shoulder with a red and then blue circle around it. You smiled and gently touched the star. Of everything Bucky hoped for with his new arm, you knew he’d be happiest about not having the red star anymore.

You ran your fingertips down the arm to his hand. _Spectacular_. You chuckled. There really was no other word for it. You were so happy for him. You looked at his face and then reached out to touch his hair. “You did it, Bucky,” you whispered. “You’re another huge step closer to being free.”

You turned and found a chair, scooting it, as silently as possible, to the side of the bed. You rested your hand over his metal one and just watched him breathe. Nothing would keep you from being here, whenever he woke up. 


	12. Chapter 12

_Four hours later…_

Every part of you ached. Even with occasional shuffling around for water and the small chats with friends, you sat in that chair for the better part of the afternoon and early evening. Everyone had been by to check on you and Bucky, and, of course, there’d been several nurses in to monitor his vitals and check his bandages.

Steve had stopped in twice before you convinced him to stay, and he was now sleeping in a row of chairs against the far wall. Although there were four of them lined up together, he looked like a _giant_ curled up on dollhouse chairs.

You smirked and then turned your attention back to Bucky. You’d noticed his right eyelid flutter a few times in REM sleep, thankful that his dreams _seemed_ to be peaceful ones. You couldn’t help but run your fingers over his vibranium ones, feeling the details of the joints. It fascinated you and in these hours by his side, you wondered what it would be like for him to touch you with the cool metal.

You closed your eyes and tipped your head from side-to-side, trying to work out the stiffness. You then pushed yourself to sit up straight, your backache making you groan. You shook your head and gazed at Bucky’s face. The little bit of pain was worth it. You knew he’d be so happy to see you, when he woke.

“He’s still sleeping?” Sam whispered, as he entered the room. “_Lazy_.” He glanced over at Steve. “I can see now why they’ve been friends for so long.” He smirked and you chuckled.

“The nurse said it shouldn’t be too much longer,” you murmured, “and that he’ll probably be hungry. They’ve got something light and probably tasteless waiting for him.”

Sam let out a quiet laugh as he stepped up behind you. “How’re you holding up?”

You sighed, “Achy but it’s fine. I’m just so _happy_ that everything went as planned.”

Sam put his hands on your shoulders and began kneading at the muscles. You let out a breath of relief and dropped your head forward. “You really care about him, don’t you?” he asked.

“Mm…” You drew your gaze back up and smiled. “He’s a wonderful man.” Tears threatened, making your nose twitch. “He’s got a long road ahead of him, though.”

Sam worked at your shoulder blades and down to the middle of your back before sweeping your hair over and rubbing your neck. You sighed your approval and he chuckled. Quiet then settled over the room, until he finally spoke, “Steve said you and Dr. Bachman have a plan all laid out. All Bucky could talk about last night was the lullaby. You’re really going to break HYDRA’s programming, aren’t you?”

You curled your fingers around Bucky’s hand and nodded. “That’s the goal – for Bucky to be free.” Tears pooled in the corners of your eyes and you bit your lip to hold back the flood. “That’s all he wants and we’re going to give it to him.”

Sam stopped the massaging and patted your shoulders. “He’s a lucky man.” He started for the door but paused. “Remember what I said before. If you need my help, that’s what I’m here for.”

You glanced back and smiled. “And I’m sure we’ll be calling on you. Thanks, Sam,” you reached up and touched your shoulder, “for everything.”

He grinned and winked at you. “Just don’t tell Steve I did that. He’ll expect a shoulder massage, too.”

You laughed, your eyes sparkling from the remnant of tears. “I promise – it’s our secret.” Sam waved and you watched him disappear out into the hall. You glanced over at Steve and then focused back on the man that made your heart thump against your chest.

You stood and touched his forehead, running your fingertips down his cheek, around the bandages and over the tubes that led to his nose, all the way to his dimpled chin. It took every bit of your willpower to keep from sliding your thumb across his lips or even placing a gentle kiss on them. You’d never felt so drawn to another person before. “You’re just lying there sleeping and somehow I’m falling for you even more.” You smirked. “Bastard.”

He stirred, making your mouth gape. _Oh, shit – please don’t tell me he heard that_. His breathing settled again, though and you relaxed. You stood content, watching him for several minutes. His eyelid fluttered and you wondered what he was dreaming.

You reached out to touch his forehead again, this time with your left hand. His eyebrows stitched together, his face contorting. Then, without warning, his metal hand swept up and grabbed hold of your wrist in a vice-like grip. You gasped, your voice lost to shock. His jaw clenched but his visible eye remained shut tight. “No! No! Not again!” His body jerked in the bed. The machines hooked up to him began to wail and screech. He shouted out, inaudibly and you cried out in pain.

“B…Bucky,” you stammered. Tears filled your eyes, as his arm twisted yours back. Steve tumbled from the chairs and scrambled over to the bed.

“Bucky!” he shouted. “Bucky! Wake up! Let go of [Name]!”

Nurses and a doctor raced into the room. Your vision was blurred from tears and pain. You were sure that one quick move and your arm would break. Steve clawed at Bucky’s metal fingers, unable to pry them open.

“No! I won’t let you do this to me again!” Bucky roared. His right hand reached up to tear at his bandages, but Steve moved fast, leaning across Bucky and pushing his arm against the bed. A nurse plunged a needle into Bucky’s IV port, as you stood gaping at your arm, turning red beneath his grip.

Within seconds, Bucky stopped fighting. His metal hand released your wrist and you tumbled back from the bed, your legs pushing the chair you’d been using before out of the way. Your face was wet and you were shaking, as Steve took you in his arms.

“Shh…it’s over. It’s over,” he whispered. Glancing back, he growled, “Can someone come check her wrist, now, please?!” He lowered you into the chair and wiped at your cheeks, just as Sam, Sharon, and Dr. Bachman reached the room, breathless.

The alarms of the machines were shut off, as a nurse scuttled over to you and lifted your arm. It was already beginning to bruise, clear marks of fingers coloring your skin. “It’s sprained for sure. Can you move it?”

Voices sounded behind you, as the trio filled the room with questions. You couldn’t focus, only blinking at the nurse. She offered a gentle smile and nodded encouragement.

“Try to move it.”

Steve stood up, hands on his hips and spoke with Sam, Sharon, and Dr. B. You moved your wrist and sucked in air. It hurt like hell but it wasn’t broken. As the nurse began to touch it, feeling for any slight breaks or cracks, you looked past her at the bed where Bucky lay. The doctor, not Dr. Campbell or the other surgeon, but a new one, held Bucky’s right arm up at the wrist. Two other nurses shuffled around his bed, resetting the monitors and checking his bandages over his eye. If not for the beeping of the heart monitor, you’d wonder if he’d died. He was pale and completely still. You narrowed your eyes, trying desperately to catch the rise and fall of his chest. _Breathe, damn it_.

“[Name]? [Name]?” Steve said, his voice filled with worry. He squatted down next to you and touched your cheek. “[Name]? The nurse wants to take you for an X-ray and then get your arm wrapped up and in a sling. [Name]?”

You blinked at him and tears spilled down your cheeks. “Oh…okay.” You gasped, as he helped you stand. Your arm felt like it was on fire. “He…he didn’t mean it,” you whispered. “It was a nightmare.”

“We know, my dear,” Dr. Bachman said, as you passed him. “Get yourself tended to, all right? Miss Carter and I will stay with him. It’s going to be fine.”

\---

As you sat in the room next to Bucky’s, the nurse wrapped your arm to minimize movement and then hooked it up in a sling. “You’re very lucky that nothing was fractured. It’s a rough sprain, though. It could take a week or more to heal, completely. Keep that ice pack on it and I’ll get you some pain pills.”

As she started for the door, you called out, “Nothing too strong. I need to be _present_, when he wakes up.”

Sam and Steve had found a corner and were whispering to each other, tossing glances in your direction.

You frowned and slid off the bed. “I’m fine, okay? I shouldn’t have gotten so close before he woke up. I should’ve known he might experience some memories, having the new arm.”

Steve marched toward you, his face lined. “And what if he’d grasped your throat instead of your wrist?” His jaw clenched and he muttered, “I couldn’t pull his hand off of you! It’s pure _luck_ that it’s only sprained.”

You sighed and licked your lips. “Always so _dramatic_. He didn’t grab my throat, Steve, and whether luck or circumstance – it doesn’t matter. My wrist is sprained and it hurts like hell, but I’m going to be fine. _Now_, I need to get back in there.” You started to step past him but he moved to stand in your way. Sam jogged over and blocked the doorway. You looked the blond up and down before narrowing your eyes. “Steve Rogers, move out of my way. Bucky needs me to be there, when he wakes up!”

“He’s not going to wake up for a while now – not with what they gave him.” Steve glanced back at Sam before continuing, “We need to talk to you.”

You rolled your eyes and stepped back to sit on the bed. “About?”

Steve’s eyes grew wide. “About?! How can you be so calm? Nightmare or not, Bucky attacked you!”

You stood up again, angry. “He did not attack _me_!” Your voice cracked, “_Steve_! He attacked whatever HYDRA agent was torturing him in his nightmare! How could you say that?” Your bottom lip trembled and you blinked back more tears. “He…he has a long…a long road a –”

“Ahead of him,” Sam finished. “We know, [Name], but if he’s capable of that,” he pointed at your arm, “with just a nightmare…”

You sat hard on the bed. Giant tears spilled down your cheeks. “That’s my fault.”

Both men approached, their brows wrinkled in confusion. Sam folded his arms as Steve crouched down in front of you. “What do you mean? How could it be your fault? Because you were close to him? That’s crazy, [Name]. There’s no way you could’ve known.”

You sighed and glanced up at the ceiling before wiping at your tears. “No…it’s…the lullaby…it’s like I forgot _everything_ that we’ve been working on.”

“You honestly think you could’ve used it in there?” Sam asked, doubt lacing his words.

“It’s what it’s meant for.” Steve rested his hands on your knees and dropped his head, shaking it. You looked at him and frowned. “It’s true. It’s like when you’re learning how to drive and they have this whole session about what to do if you hydroplane. You go over it again and again. The instructor drills it into you, right? If you veer to the left, don’t jerk the wheel to the right or you’ll spin. Don’t hit the brakes or you’ll spin. And you think you’ve got it.” Your voice began to waver, “But then, you’re out on the highway and you hit a slick spot and your tires float above the pavement. You’re hydroplaning but you forget everything you were taught. It all flies out the window, because you’re in complete terror.” You sighed, “And you jerk the wheel and hit the brakes and spin out.” You ran your hand down your face and looked up at the ceiling again. “It all happened so fast, like a terrible accident, and I _forgot_ _everything_.”

“I think you’re being too hard on yourself,” Sam said. “He wasn’t awake. He was…out of it.”

You drew your gaze to him and frowned, as more tears fell. “And what do you think it’ll be like, when Dr. Bachman and I take him into his past? When we drag him into those missions, tugging and yanking him through every memory…how ‘awake’ do you think he’ll be, Sam? How cognizant?” You pushed Steve’s hands from your legs and stood. “The lullaby would’ve worked in there and I failed him.”

Steve jumped to his feet and stopped you. “Fine. You failed him. Faced with the first real challenge, the first opportunity to use the lullaby and you forgot what to do.”

“_Steve_,” Sam muttered.

Steve held his hand up to his friend and then folded his arms in front of you. “Do you think it’s the last time that’ll happen?”

You gaped at him. “Wow. Thanks for the vote of confiden –”

He put his hand on your shoulder. “What have we talked about over and over again? As _you’ve _worked with Bucky on that lullaby, what have you told him…to reassure him that, ultimately, you will succeed?”

You sighed, annoyed that somehow your roles had reversed. _Damn, self-righteous, supersoldier_. He lifted an eyebrow and you rolled your eyes. “That every failure will lead to success and that we should treat them as lessons on how to do handle things better the next time.”

He smirked at you and you wanted to wipe it off his face. Sam chuckled, clearly amused by the exchange. “Sam said you were being too hard on yourself and he’s right.”

“Thank you,” Sam said, grinning.

“And so if you’re going to go back in there, you need to let this failure go. You were caught by surprise… we _all_ were. Next time, you’ll nail it.”

You lifted your right arm and waved your hand. “At least my lullaby arm is still in working order.” You frowned then and sighed, “Thanks, Steve,” you leaned around him and smiled, “and Sam.”

Steve pulled you in for a gentle hug and then turned. “I’ll stay in there with you…and I won’t fall asleep this time.”

“Yeah…_lazy_,” Sam teased. “C’mon, let’s go. I’m sure everyone’s worried.”

\---

_Three hours later…_

The sun was long gone, but Bucky’s room was still filled with light. The surgeon and Dr. Bachman agreed that it would be best to expel any shadows that could generate more nightmares. It took a little convincing, but Dr. Bachman finally agreed to leave you in Steve’s non-sleeping care, along with Sam checking in every so often.

The pain pills that the nurse gave you were just what you’d asked for, non-drowsy. You sipped on a coffee that Sam had brought by and watched Bucky, closely. You’d positioned your chair a little further from the bed, at Steve’s request and he sat right next to you, reading _The Great Gatsby_.

You’d tried to read but found yourself unable to concentrate. The lullaby ran through your head over and over again. _Lights out, James, it’s getting late. Hold up hand and wait for him to follow suit. Turn it over and watch for him to put his elbow in your palm. Flip hand over and tap his shoulder and then run fingertips down his scars._ You furrowed your brow and then closed your eyes, trying to imagine it.

A shuffling sound drew your attention and you stood, hesitantly stepping toward the bed. You set your coffee down and watched. Bucky’s eye opened, fluttering for a moment before settling on your face. “H…hey,” he managed. Steve joined you and offered Bucky some water.

“Everything went really well,” you whispered, smiling at him. “You’ll have that bandage for a few days and then an eyepatch, but within 10 days or so, you should be all healed up.”

“That’s good,” he said, his focus landing on his new arm. He lifted it, turning it back and forth. “It’s even better than T’Challa described.”

“How does it _feel_?” Steve asked, his voice low.

“It feels great,” Bucky returned, curling his fingers into a fist and back out. He glanced at Steve. “What’s,” his eyes landed on your arm in the sling, “wrong?” He furrowed his brow. “What happened to you?”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just realized that I had repeated Ch 12 here somehow, when I was copying and pasting. Anyway, this is the correct Ch 13. My apologies.

_Four hours later…_

You laid on your right side, arm curled beneath your pillow. Tears slipped out of your eyes, as you stared out the window. Through the blur, you could make out the shapes of the trees in the moonlight. You shivered beneath an ice pack, strapped loosely to your left wrist. Your arm throbbed, despite the numbness and you blinked over at the bottle of pills sitting on the corner of your bedside table.

You rolled your lips and then licked them, as you felt the pillowcase cool and wet against your cheek. You couldn’t sleep. Your nose and eyes felt puffy and sore from crying. You felt silly and weak. You were a psychologist, for goodness sakes. _Pull yourself together!_

You sighed and flopped to your back, sucking in air at the pain that followed. As you stared at the ceiling, you tried imagining sheep, leaping over a white fence. _One, two, three, four…[Name]._ You could hear Bucky’s voice. _[Name]? There’s a handprint?_

You swallowed but your throat was thick, so you sat up and turned, dropping your feet to the floor. You reached out and grabbed your water bottle, flicking the lid open and taking a long drink. You set it down and narrowed your eyes. Something was out in the field near the trees. You stood and stepped up to the window, watching as a sleek, dark animal maneuvered in and out of the forest. You couldn’t quite make out what it was, but it held your gaze until it disappeared into the dark.

You frowned and sighed, as you turned from the window. Your distraction was gone and your mind filled up again. You glanced at the bottle of pills and gave in, shuffling over and taking two. You then slipped into your house shoes and donned your robe, as best you could, making a beeline through your apartment and out into the corridor.

The place was deadly silent. Your aim was the garden, enclosed in the facility. The moon was full, so you figured it would be well-lit, despite being surrounded by buildings. You needed to breathe, to _think_.

As you worked your way through the halls, you could see the look on Bucky’s face from just hours before…

xx

_“What happened to you?”_

You forced a smile. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“That wasn’t my question,” he murmured. He couldn’t take his eyes off of your left arm. The royal blue sling kept it bent; your fingers stuck out from some bandages at the other end.

“I got hurt, but I’m okay,” you sighed. “What’s more important is how –”

Bucky brought his gaze to you, lifting his eyebrows. “_[Name]_.”

“You had a nightmare earlier, Bucky,” Steve said.

Your mouth tightened into a straight line and you glared at Steve. “It’s _nothing_,” you muttered.

Bucky sat up a bit more, glancing between the two of you. “_Wait_. You mean, I…I did that?” He looked horrified. He shifted in his bed, suddenly annoyed that his left eye was blocked. “What…_how_ did I –” He gaped at you. “Is it broken?”

“No,” you said, your voice firm. You sighed and clicked the metal railing to move it out of the way. Sitting on the bed, you reached out and touched his cheek. “It’s just a sprain. It’ll heal. It’s…it’s already feeling better.”

He stared at your arm again. “Tell me _what_ _happened_,” he whispered.

You glanced at Steve and then frowned. “All right.” You worked your way through the events, ending with, “I just froze up, Bucky. I’m so sorry. I didn’t even try the lullaby. I failed you and –”

“I _hurt_ you…_terrified_ you… and you’re talking about failing me? _[Name]_, you didn’t fail. We talked about trying the lullaby out for the first time in a controlled setting. Me suddenly grabbing you and twisting your arm is _not_ a controlled setting, is it?”

You dropped your gaze. “No, but it was still an opportunity. Steve agrees with me. I failed.”

Bucky clenched his jaw, as anger clouded his features. “Steve _what_?”

Steve held up his hands in surrender. “She wouldn’t let go of the blame, so I let her have it…that’s all.”

You gaped at him. “So you _don’t_ agree with me?” You scoffed and pushed off the bed to face him. “Poor, irrational [Name]…just pretend to agree with her so she’ll shut up? Is that it?”

“Now, listen…I didn’t even want you to come back in here. I couldn’t pry his hand off of your arm!” Steve’s eyes flashed. “You have a handprint bruise around your wrist and you were blaming yourself!”

“I’m his therapist! We’ve worked on that lullaby for hours upon hours and I forgot everything when he needed me the most! What am I supposed to do? Pat myself on the back?”

“Stop it!” Bucky shouted, causing the nurses who were hovering to flock to the doorway. He pressed his fingers against his temples and then dropped his hands. “The metal-armed, brainwashed, ex-assassin has to be the voice of reason?”

You covered your mouth with your right hand, as you turned to face Bucky. Steve dropped his head.

“Sorry,” you and Steve said in unison before you sat back down next to Bucky on the bed. The nurses looked around the room and then filtered away.

You stuck out your bottom lip before taking a deep breath. “I’m so sorry, Bucky. You just woke up. We shouldn’t be arguing. I –”

Bucky ran his right hand down your left arm from your shoulder, stopping when he reached the sling. He stared at your arm and then looked up at you. “[Name]? There’s a handprint?”

You shrugged. “It’s okay, Bucky.”

He shook his head. “Will you let me feel bad for more than one _second_?” He touched your cheek. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I can’t believe I hurt you…”

xx

You reached the garden door, thankful to find it unlocked. When you pushed it open, you instantly felt at ease. The night was warm but the breeze, plentiful. You slipped inside and let the door click shut before stepping forward. Your guess had been right. The moon lit the garden in soft light. You could make out the path without much effort, settling into your stroll.

The trees bustled and swayed, soothing your soul. Your house shoes scratched along the pavement, offering the only other sound. You passed the bench where you first showed Bucky the lullaby and rounded a corner.

The moon caught something up ahead for a moment, sparkling like a tiny star. You furrowed your brow and then gasped, “Bucky?”

He looked up from his place. He’d found another bench, one set further back in a group of trees. He was wearing a dark robe, which helped hide his figure, but the moon had caught the silver of his left hand. He pushed up from the bench and smiled. “Well, hello.”

“What are you doing out of bed?” Your voice sounded loud in the quiet, as you scolded him. “You should be resting. You just had surgery.”

“[Name],” he chuckled, “do I need to use the lullaby again? _Relax_. I got permission. The nurse just left me a little while ago and said she’d be back in an hour.”

“An hour?!”

He chuckled again, shaking his head. “I’m fine. How’re you?”

You reached him just as a breeze kicked up, tossing your hair and his, around your faces. Has he always been this tall? “I can’t sleep. You?”

“I’ve slept _too_ much,” he returned, motioning for you to sit with him. Once you both settled, he asked, “Your wrist hurting?”

You shrugged. “My wrist is _numb_, thanks to this ice pack that never seems to warm up. My arm is sore, though.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

You reached out and covered his right hand with yours. “I know you feel bad, but Bucky, it wasn’t your fault. If I blame anyone, it’s HYDRA. I wish they’d let you alone, but I know it’ll take more than wishes to make that happen.”

He covered your hand with his metal one and when you flipped yours to hold it, he sucked in a quick breath. “It’s strange,” he murmured. “I know it’s mine. I can feel it.” He looked up at you. “I can feel you holding it, but it’s different, too.”

“That’s your brain, trying to work things out.” You tilted your head. “Did they talk with you about exercises? You’ll need to use the arm a lot to help your mind connect the dots, so to speak.”

He gave a soft laugh. “You’re amazing,” he whispered. He stared down at his hand surrounding yours. “You’re always thinking about my recovery – the next step, the therapy and exercises and the…lullaby.”

“I’m just always thinking about _you_,” you murmured. You felt your cheeks burn and looked away.

“You say things like that and then tell me we have to wait.” His voice was so low, you had to lean in a bit to hear him and it drew your gaze back to his face.

“I’m sorry,” you sighed. “I know that it’s wrong to say those things. I don’t know what I’m doing. I shouldn’t even be out here.” You glanced around and shifted to move.

He stopped you by holding your hand in place. “Talk to me…_please_? I hadn’t thought this through – it never really occurred to me that I could _hurt_ you.”

“That’s why we have the lullaby and I promise, Bucky, I’ll be more prepared next time. I’ll be ready, no matter what.” You looked away and blinked back tears. There was nothing more frustrating than when you were trying to be strong, but sadness tore at you anyway. _Damn it_.

“Hey…look at me.” When you drew your gaze back, he lifted his hand and touched your cheek. His thumb rested just beneath your lower lip and he could feel it tremble. When he ran his thumb across it, he sighed, “I don’t care what anyone says. You did not _fail_ me. You’ve done everything right, [Name]. You need to cut yourself some slack.”

“I just want to make this as easy as possible for you,” you lifted your left arm a bit, “and adding on this guilt –”

He tilted his head, his expression soft. “You think I don’t know how many hours you work? How much time you’ve put into helping me? You think I don’t _feel_ how much you want me to be free from the programming? You’ve put your heart and soul into this, and it’s left you raw.” A tear slipped free, rolling to his hand, and he scooted closer. “You are _human_, [Name], not a machine. I was sleeping and you touched my forehead and then the world spun out of control. How can you be so hard on yourself for reacting the way _anyone_ would’ve in the same situation?”

You sucked in a shaky breath and let it out before speaking, “Because I spent all those hours for just such a moment. We worked on the lullaby, _again_ and _again_, until the movements became second nature, and –”

“You are _human_, [Name].” He leaned to the side. “_And_ you’re looking away again.” He chuckled, softly.

You groaned and lifted your eyes. In the moonlit shadows, the white bandages over his left eye almost glowed. The tape covering them reached up to his hairline and crisscrossed on his cheek. His face was scruffy. He hadn’t shaved in days. His right eye appeared as blue as tropical waters and it chilled you the way he looked _into_ you, past the walls you’d tried so hard to build over the years. _I’m falling in love with him. God help me._

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, and it was as if you were drawn together like magnets. Your eyes fluttered closed, as his hand slipped into your hair.

“Sergeant Barnes?” came a voice from behind you. Footsteps sounded on the pavement and a nurse came around the corner, her white uniform like a flashing beacon, separating you from Bucky.

His hand fell away and you scooted back and then stood. “Kelly,” you managed, turning to smile at her.

“Why, [Name], I didn’t realize you were out here.” She lifted her hands and took a step backward. “He’s in good hands then. I’ll leave you two alone.”

“I…I was just going to bed,” you whispered. You turned to look at Bucky, who’d risen from the bench. “You should get back to bed, too, or your sleep schedule will never even out.” _Ugh_. You sounded so fake. You were forcing things, trying to push past what nearly happened minutes before. “There’s, um, no therapy with me tomorrow, nothing until your doctors give you the green light, but we’ll be –”

“[Name],” Bucky interrupted, his voice firm. He looked past you to Kelly. “I can make it on my own. Thanks.” He offered her a smile and waited for her to nod and walk away.

You covered your face with your hand and _shook_. Your entire body was quaking. When you could no longer hear Kelly’s footsteps, you moved your hand across your chest and held on to your upper arm. “We can’t let that happen again.”

“Why not?” he demanded. “I don’t understand why.”

“I explained it befo –”

“You said it’s _unprofessional_ – therapists and patients, but [Name], you’ve got to see how this is different!” He walked toward you. “_We _are different.”

“But the differences in this case only make it worse, not better!” You searched his face, reading the hurt and confusion there. “Things are going to get _hard_, Bucky! You think you know what’s coming, but I don’t think you’ve grasped the half of it!”

“I _do_ know, okay?!” He raised his arms and dropped them. “That’s _all_ Dr. Bachman and I talk about – what to expect during the de-programming – the memories and the physical pain, as he rips the trigger words from my mind!” He pounded a fist against his chest, punctuating each word, “You think I don’t know?!”

You blinked and swallowed as tears stubbornly clouded your vision. When he saw them shining in the moonlight, he stepped up to you and cupped your face with his right hand. His breathing slowed and he started to speak, but you interrupted him, your voice small, “And when it’s _me_ that takes you to those dark places? When you need to rage and it’s _my_ face you see, _my_ demands that drag you through hell?”

He stared at you, daring you to look away. A breeze slipped around you and held your breath in its fingers. He stepped nearer and raised his metal hand to the other cheek. His voice melted in your ears, “Then it’ll be _your_ heart that wraps around mine, as the lullaby comes. I’ll watch the words drip from your mouth and my body will obey. You’ll raise your hand and I’ll follow. You’ll turn it and I’ll rest my arm against it. You’ll tap my shoulder and slide your fingertips down my scars…and I’ll _breathe_.”

Your body trembled and the tears flowed, dripping over his fingers. Your head and your heart battled, fiercely. _You can’t – But you need him – You have to wait – But he’s **here** and he trusts you – **No**, walk away_. You took a step back and then two. His hands fell to his sides and his mouth opened. You shook your head and swallowed, your throat like sandpaper. “I can’t give myself…_this_, not until you’re free. I…I promised Dr. –”

“[Name],” he whispered, “you don’t have to walk away.” His shoulders drooped. “I won’t press it. I can wait.”


	14. Chapter 14

_Three days later…_

You sucked in air, as the nurse carefully lifted your arm out of the sling. She needed to check the progress of your healing and re-wrap the bandage around your wrist. She slowly un-wound the tan stretchy material and you both examined the puffy, discolored wound.

“You’ve been keeping ice on it?” she asked.

“Yes,” you gasped, as she touched it with her fingers. “My wrist feels numb most of the time because of it.” A figure appeared in the doorway and you looked up. “Bucky? What’re you –?”

He stepped into the room, glancing at the nurse before his focus fell to your wrist. “I was looking for…you…” his voice trailed off, as he got closer. The handprint bruise was still visible, even in its mix of colors.

Your cheeks turned red. You’d never intended on him seeing the actual trauma. The nurse didn’t look up, but only turned your arm back and forth, as she continued to examine it. You wanted to tug it away and hide it. The stricken look on Bucky’s face made you ache. You could see him swallow and his uncovered eye grew glossy, as he hovered over you. He held his metal arm out and stared at it, as he flipped it and made a fist with his hand. When he sighed and dropped his gaze to the floor, you cleared your throat. “Could we have a minute?” you whispered.

The nurse looked at you and furrowed her brow. “Um, sure? I’ll be back in five. You okay like this?”

You nodded once and waited for her to leave before looking at him. “Bucky, sit down.”

He obeyed, sitting in the chair the nurse just vacated. He drew his focus back to your arm and frowned. “It looks terrible. I…I can’t believe –”

You reached out with your right hand and took his, squeezing it. “It looks worse than it feels. It’s healing.” You gave his hand a little shake. “Look at me.” When he lifted his gaze, you smiled. “I’m fine. I promise. This wasn’t your fault. You’ve been through so much, Bucky. You’re going to have to give your mind a chance to catch up.”

He let go of the breath he’d been holding and nodded. “I’m trying to remember that.” He released your hand and gently touched your wrist, caressing the bruise. “It must’ve been so scary,” he whispered.

“It was – for that minute of time, but even then, I wasn’t afraid _of_ you. I was afraid _for_ you.” The nurse appeared again and Bucky moved out of the way to let her finish her work. Once your arm was back in its sling, you stood and asked, “You were looking for me, because?”

Bucky blinked and then stared at you, his mouth open. “Huh? Oh, yeah…I wanted to get out for a bit and thought you might join me? Take a walk in the garden?”

You smiled and bit your lower lip. “I’d love to…ya bloody pirate.”

He furrowed his brow and then smirked before touching his eyepatch. “Ha ha.”

“Aarrrrgh, but don’t cha be thinkin’ about stealin’ me booty there, matey!”

The nurse giggled as she exited the room and Bucky groaned. “You’re just getting started, aren’t you?”

You stepped over to him, mirth in your eyes. “Well, shiver me timbers! You be the finest lookin’ pirate on the seven seas!”

“[Name], I swear. I’m going to take back my invitation.”

You pouted a bit and sighed, “Fine.” You stepped around him and out into the corridor. When he didn’t follow right away, you looked back and smirked. “Avast ye! Best be gettin’ to the garden before they make us walk the plank!”

He covered his face and groaned again. “[Name],” he sighed, “you are a scallywag.”

You chuckled then and held out your hand. “C’mon, patchy.”

\---

_Ten days later…_

You stepped through the door to Bucky’s room and held up both arms. “I’m sling-free!” You walked across the room and sat on the edge of his bed. “And you’re not a pirate anymore. Bummer.”

He smirked before reaching out to take your arm and examine it. “It looks good.”

You leaned forward a bit, tilting your head. “Must admit, it’s nice seeing both of those steel blue eyes again.” You covered his hand with your own. “Arm is all better. How’s that eye?”

He looked at you and smiled. “It’s perfect, actually. Did they get the office finished?”

You nodded. “Sure did and so I thought we could utilize it today. You ready to test the lullaby?”

He frowned and sighed. “Honestly? I don’t know. Your arm just got better and –”

“Bucky, we’re ready for this. It’s what we’ve worked so hard for, remember?”

“I know, but I’m still worried that I’ll hurt you again.”

It seemed that ever since he saw the handprint bruise around your wrist, his perpetual hope and excitement had begun seeping away. The sparkle left his eyes, whenever you brought up therapy.

He went through the motions of the lullaby, sure, but his movements were less confident. Dr. Bachman had noticed the change, too. In fact, you and your boss had spent a lot of late-night hours discussing it. Waiting for Bucky to get the clear from his medical doctors only stretched out the wait and exacerbated the worry written all over Bucky’s face.

The solution? Taking Bucky into a dark memory and bringing him out with the lullaby. He needed to see that the lullaby would work. He needed evidence. Once that was gained, his mind would settle.

You brushed the hair from his face and rested your hand on his shoulder. “I know you’re worried, but the best way to break out of that is to prove the validity of the lullaby.”

His eyes searched your face, looking for even a sliver of doubt. Finding none, he nodded. “All right. Let’s go.” You stood and waited, as he turned and pushed up off the bed.

He stepped over to a chair and sat, tugging his boots on and tying them. When he rose, you gave him the once over. He looked good, healthy. He was wearing blue jeans and a navy blue t-shirt. The new white star with the red and blue circles on his arm just peeked out from the sleeve and it made you smile. He loved that star.

You imagined he wouldn’t be spending anymore of his days lying in his hospital bed. Most likely, you’d find him in his living quarters or perhaps taking Steve up on the offer to train together. He’d already been going to physical therapy sessions to work with new arm, test its limits. His body was healed and complete. All that was left was healing his mind.

He took your hand and smiled. “Ready?”

“Yep. Let’s get started. My notes and a recorder…everything is in the room, waiting for us.” You led him across the hall, thankful again that Dr. B. had agreed with you about turning the small space into a proper office. You couldn’t imagine dragging Bucky all the way down into the basement with all of the security you had to go through. You’d have all the privacy and space you needed right there in the hospital ward.

You entered the room and turned on the light. The smell of fresh paint lingered but it wasn’t strong. The walls were no longer stark white but a still-water blue instead. Soft green accents helped tie the blues and greens in the long couch to its surroundings. Your chair matched the chocolate brown scattered in the pillows and curtains. The room whispered serenity and you were so pleased.

“This is amazing,” Bucky sighed. “It’s like stepping into a different world.” He glanced around the room, woefully noticing every breakable thing. He couldn’t free his mind from it. Worse was when his gaze fell on you, standing a few feet away, smiling proudly. _Things_ could be broken and replaced. You could not.

“Wanna give that couch a try?” you asked, interrupting his thoughts. “Don’t fall asleep, though.”

He gave a soft laugh and slipped past you, sitting on the end. “It’s nice. The colors…you said you chose them?”

You moved to sit in your chair and nodded. “I did. It’s actually kinda my dream office.” You grinned. “Dr. Bachman wanted gray. Ick.” You stuck out your tongue and Bucky laughed.

“Is that the color of your offices in Berlin?”

“Unfortunately,” you sighed. You leaned forward and picked up the recorder, pressing the small red button. “I think we should get started. I’m not sure how long it will take.”

He rubbed his thighs and swallowed. He could feel his heart thumping, hear it in his ears. “What… what do I do?”

You set the recorder down on a side table behind you and stood. “You’re going to lie down. I’ll take you through the exercises to clear your mind and then we’ll…go back.”

He pulled a face. “[Name], shouldn’t someone else be in here? Steve? T’Challa? Sam? Sharon? _Someone_? You’re not trained to –”

“We have the lullaby.” You crouched down in front of him, resting your hands on his knees. “We’ve got this, Bucky. I’m one hundred percent sure. It’s going to work.” You glanced behind you and pointed at a corner of the room. “Besides, there’s a camera there. All of those people you just listed and Dr. Bachman are watching. I’ve got back-up, even though I don’t need it.” You smirked at him. “Trust me?”

He let out a sigh and dropped his gaze. “I’ve always trusted you. I don’t trust myself.”

You stood and tipped his chin. “Well,_ I_ trust _you_. You’ve practiced this lullaby more times than I can count. It’s ingrained in your mind. You can do this.”

He swallowed and then shifted to lie down. He rested his head on the pillowy-soft armrest and closed his eyes. “Okay. I…I’m ready.”

You took him through the relaxation exercises first, until you saw his breathing even out. You’d written copious notes on which memory you were going to take him through. They were there, on the table behind you, but you didn’t need them. You knew his history almost better than you knew your own.

“Kurchatov, Russia; November 21, 1985,” you began, watching him stir right away. _It’s familiar_. You frowned and took a shaky breath. _I’m sorry, Bucky. I had a feeling it would be_. “Mission, sanction and extract, no witnesses.”

He shifted but kept his eyes closed. “You waited until the house was dark. Snow crunched beneath your feet and fell from the sky. The wind was crisp, breath-stealing. You were focused, though, weapons ready, entrance discerned.” His hands curled into fists, as his breathing sped up. “A basement window, easily broken, you slipped inside and crept up the stairs.”

You backed up and sat down, leaning forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped. “Not a sound, not even your footsteps, filtered through the house. You entered the only bedroom on the first floor. An ex-HYDRA agent, AWOL, whereabouts previously unknown, was sleeping next to his wife.” Bucky took a deep breath and let it out through his teeth. “Viktor Lebedev. Alina Lebedev. Two shots. You had files to extract and return.”

You paused, watching his body react to the pinging in his brain. He clenched his jaw and you whispered, “Bucky, do you remember what happened next?”

He squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head. “Please,” he murmured. “I don’t want to remember.”

“You don’t have a choice, Bucky. Tell me what happened next. You were standing in that room, your gun still smoking and something happened. What was it?”

He trembled and your heart broke. You waited, watching him. His eyes darted back and forth beneath his eyelids. He clenched his jaw. “I…I can’t.”

“Bucky! Bucky, you were standing in that room. Your mission was to extract with no witnesses. You were doing your duty, following the rules. What happened next?”

He sucked in a breath and whispered, “A…a child…a child spoke from behind me.”

“A boy? A girl?”

“I…don’t…I don’t remember.”

“_What_ did the child say, Bucky?”

“мамочка (Mamochka)?” his voice cracked. 

You licked your lips. “The child called for their mother?”

He took another breath and nodded. “Y…yes.”

“And what did you do? What did you have to do, Bucky?”

His body twisted. His mind was fighting it. The memory that HYDRA thought they’d wiped had only been buried, deep within his subconscious, but he didn’t want it there anymore than they did. “No,” he whispered. “No.”

“The child called for their mother. You had a mission to complete. You were standing in the room, and the child spoke behind you. What did you have to do?” Your heart thumped in your chest. You hated your choice, hated watching him suffering beneath it. You rolled your lips and waited.

As you drew the memory to the surface, Bucky felt as if everything he was seeing had happened only moments before. Every bit of it was right there in front of him.

The bedroom was odd-shaped, one wall built at an angle. The closet doors were opened, hangers and clothes hanging askew. Death filled his nostrils. Blood splattered across ghostly white pillowcases and onto lamp shades. Bodies lay limp, void of life. He had to get the files. No witnesses.

“Bucky?! What did you have to do? What happened?”

“I shot…I shot her.”

_Her. A little girl_. That wasn’t in the file. The only detail was that a child was found in the bedroom and two more upstairs. Your heart ached. He _did_ remember her. “You shot her,” you repeated.

“Yes,” his voice shook, barely audible. “I killed her.” His eyes popped open and pushed himself up, turning in one motion to put his feet on the floor. He stared at you, anger and beads of sweat covering his face. “I killed her, [Name]!” he growled. “She…she couldn’t have been more than six!”

He reached out and flipped the small coffee table in front of him before you could blink. You jumped up, but the corner of the table still managed to catch your leg. You watched him, as he slowly rose from the couch, his breathing heavy.

“Did you complete your mission, soldier?” you asked, standing firmly, even beneath his darkened stare.

He put his hands in his hair and sucked in breath after breath. “My mission – to kill a child? To murder the innocent?”

You blinked, willing the tears away. “Bucky?! Did you complete your mission?”

He dropped his hands and gaped at you. “_Yes_! I murdered them all! I _eliminated_ the house and collected the files and waited to be picked up and taken back to my chamber!” He curled his hands into fists. “молодец солдат (molodets soldat)!” he screamed. “молодец солдат(molodets soldat)!”

“Well done, soldier,” you repeated in English. Your voice sounded hollow, even as your heart broke in two. “You completed your mission.”

He stepped forward and grabbed you by your upper arms. “Didn’t you hear me? I killed them! How could I do that? Tell me why I did that?!”

His grip tightened, as he shook you hard, once. You kept your cool and looked directly into his eyes. They were filled with rage. You could tell that he was seconds away from shoving you across the room. Footsteps clamored in the hallway. You lifted your chin just slightly and said, “Lights out, James, it’s getting late.”

He blinked at you and his mouth opened. He released you, just as Steve flung the door open. He, Sharon, and Sam tumbled into the room behind you, but Bucky wasn’t swayed. He was still breathing in quick, short bursts, but his focus was locked. The three paused just inside and watched you and Bucky.

You lifted your hand and Bucky followed, his hovering just inches from yours. You turned your hand over, palm side up and Bucky moved, placing his arm on yours, elbow in your hand. He shuddered out a breath, as you grasped his elbow. Sweat dripped from the tip of his nose; his eyelashes were wet.

You brought your hand around, tapping his shoulder at the top. You then ran your fingertips down his scars and waited. He took a stuttered step back and sat on the couch. He blinked and then took three, long breaths, letting them out in a small stream from his lips. With each breath, his body relaxed a little bit more. By the end of the third one, he was calm.

“Dear God, it worked,” Steve whispered. He reached out and tugged Sharon into a hug, kissing her brow. She wrapped one arm around his waist, her other hand covering her mouth. Sam rocked from side-to-side, trying to settle his own heart.

As soon as they had seen Bucky move on the monitor, the three of them had bolted out the door. They had an entire floor to cross, since you’d refused to let them set up in the room next door. “I need time to start the lullaby,” you’d said.

They continued to stare, in silent amazement, as you went to your knees in front of Bucky. You offered a smile. “Hey,” you whispered, “you did it.”

Bucky looked at you, relief covering his features. He trembled and you moved to sit next to him on the couch. “It worked,” he managed, his voice shaky. “That…that was so weird. I felt like I was back there in that house.”

You nodded. “I know. Your mind is very pliable right now, easily manipulated.” You glanced at his friends and gave a half-smile. “It’s a good thing you’re surrounded by the right people.” You turned and touched his face, gently wiping at the sweat.

Steve cleared his throat and he, Sharon, and Sam slipped out of the room. You had no doubt he’d be filled with questions, when you saw him next, but you were more focused on Bucky now. “How’re you feeling?” you asked.

“Like I just went through the wringer?” He let out an unsteady breath and then covered your hand with his own. “How’d I do?”

“You were perfect. I’m so sorry I had to put you through that, but now we know.”

“Were you scared?” he whispered, dropping his gaze to the table toppled a few feet away.

“Not for one second. It just hurt, seeing you go through it, but I’m so proud of you.”

“You’re amazing, [Name],” he said. He looked at you, his eyes searching your face. He let out a soft laugh and whispered, “We did it.” 


	15. Chapter 15

_The next day, mid-morning…_

You stood at the door, leaning against the jamb with your arms crossed. You smiled at Steve and said, “Remember – I want you to focus on the positive. We can’t control the past, but we can control the present and the future, how we deal with things and how we take what comes to us.”

He nodded and then glanced down the corridor before looking back at you. “And you really think I should talk to Bucky about the guilt I feel?”

“He’s ready, Steve. I promise. Just realize that all you’re going to hear from him is encouragement and assurance that he doesn’t hold anything against you. The choice is up to you to take him at his word.”

He frowned and shook his head. “I don’t want to burden him. It’s not really his job to make me feel better.”

You huffed out a laugh. “Steve Rogers, what do you think friends are for? That’s what we do. I know he’d love to have the opportunity, but he won’t bring it up. That’s your part.” You reached out and touched his arm. “And talk to Sharon…and Sam. Let them in on what you’re struggling with – one of the things I figured out about Sharon right away is that she’s an amazing listener.”

He smiled then and it reached his eyes. “She’s everything,” he whispered. “I _have_ talked to her some, but she knows I’ve been holding back.” He sighed, “I guess it’s time to let her in on all of it.”

“Yes…and don’t forget, Sam’s damn brilliant at working with people who suffer from PTSD.” You narrowed your eyes and smirked. “He…has a way with words. I’ve listened in on a few of his talks with Bucky. I think he’d love to talk with you, too.”

Steve shifted from foot to foot. “And the intensive therapy with Bucky? That starts today?”

You rolled your lips and nodded. “We’re giving Bucky’s time to rest from his physical therapy and have lunch.” You glanced at your watch. “He and Dr. Bachman will be here in about 20 minutes.” You glanced around. “So if you want to be here, too, you need to go get something to eat.”

His mouth dropped. “I can…I can be here?”

You grinned. “Mm hmm. Talked with Dr. Bachman at breakfast and we both agreed. You’re not finished with your therapy but you’re on the right side of it.” You furrowed your brow. “As long as you remember the rules. One word from Dr. Bachman or myself and you _must _leave the room.”

He reached out and took you by your upper arms, giving them a bit of a shake. “Done! I…I’ll go get a grab something to eat and be right back.” He turned toward the main kitchen but glanced over his shoulder. “You need anything?”

You chuckled and shook your head. “No, I brought a lunch to the office today. I wanted to make sure the room is set and ready. Thanks, though.” You motioned down the hall. “Go…eat…be back in 20.”

He rushed into a hug with you, lifting you off the ground. You gasped and he laughed. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Thanks again.” And with that he jogged away.

You smirked and the muttered, “Super soldiers.”

\---

*****Author’s note: In the rest of this chapter, there are sentences marked at the beginning with an Ř. That indicates that the character is speaking in Russian, although written in English for ease of understanding. As you probably know, Bucky’s trigger words were programmed into him in Russian. In order to break their hold, Dr. Bachman must also speak in Russian and most likely, Bucky will respond in kind. You, the Reader, have practiced extensively with your boss on what will be spoken and while you still are not well-versed in Russian, you know what’s being said and why. Not all of the de-programming will happen in Russian, though. Your job is to monitor Bucky’s condition and be ready with the lullaby, if needed and to help with the de-programming process.*****

\---

_Half an hour later…_

Bucky was finally settled, lying back on the couch, as you took him through the relaxation exercises. “That’s it…take slow breaths, concentrate on that spot on the ceiling.” You watched him, as he took in air through his nose and let it out through his mouth. All tension in his body dissipated and you nodded at Dr. Bachman, who rose from his chair and began his part.

“All right, Bucky. Your conscious mind is letting go, giving control to your subconscious. You will remain fully awake but your thoughts will no longer be filtered or monitored by your conscious, just as we spoke about these last few weeks. So now, I want you to clear your mind.”

Bucky licked his lips and took another breath. You glanced between him and Dr. B. before stepping back to sit in your chair.

Dr. Bachman stood poised over Bucky and kept his voice low, “Ready?” Bucky nodded. “All right. We’re going to practice a little first, see how it goes. I want you to look back in time. Remember when HYDRA first captured you and tell me what you see and what you feel.”

Silence permeated the room for a full five minutes, but you could tell Bucky was processing. When he finally spoke, his voice was fragile. “It…it’s cold.” He trembled. “Snow is falling, blurring my vision. Someone is dragging me. I see blood. It’s mine but I don’t feel any pain. I’m…afraid.” His voice cracked, almost sounding like a child’s.

“You are safe here, Bucky. You are safe.” Dr. Bachman glanced at his notes and continued, “Tell me what happened. Did they stop dragging you?”

Bucky blinked several times and then rubbed his eyes with his right hand. “Yes. There’s a truck, military. I’m being picked up.” His body tensed. “It _hurts_…it…there are hands grabbing me. I’m being thrown. I land on something hard and then everything goes dark. They covered me up. I can’t…I can’t see. I can’t breathe.”

“You can breathe, Bucky. You’re okay. It’s a blanket.” Dr. B. looked at you and nodded.

You licked your lips and took the next step. “Bucky, we’re going to move ahead. The blanket is gone. You can see. You have been taken out of cryostasis. You have a new metal arm attached, and you are meeting with Dr. Fenhoff.”

Bucky sucked in air and his body tensed. His hands curled into fists, as his breathing became more rapid and unsteady.

“Bucky, concentrate. _Remember,_ you are safe.” Your voice was soft and low but your heart thudded in your chest. “I want you to tell me what you hear and see and feel.”

“He…he wants me to look at him, but I won’t. I won’t do it.” He trembled and whispered, “No…no.”

“What do you see, Bucky?” you asked.

Tears filled his eyes. “They’re going to _make_ me look at him. They’re bringing it.”

You frowned. You knew what he meant all too well. They had a vise they would attach to Bucky’s chair. It wrapped around his forehead and across his chin, holding his head in place. They would then clamp a metal piece with two round devices to the forehead strap. The metal circles were pressed around his eyes and then locked into position, holding his eyes open. Dr. Fenhoff’s success depended on his victim watching him.

“You are safe here, Bucky. All I need to know is what you were forced to see.”

Bucky’s eyes were wide and despite your assurances, terror filled them. “He…he’s twisting his ring around his finger. He’s talking to me. I’ve fought for so long. I’m so tired.”

“What’s he saying to you, Bucky?” Dr. Bachman asked.

“He’s mocking me. He knows too much.” Bucky’s voice cracked and he trembled again.

“How is he mocking you? What is he saying?”

**Ř** “Come to me in my dreams, and then by day I shall be well again. For then the night will more than pay the hopeless longing of the day.”

Dr. Bachman looked at you and held up one finger followed by a ‘thumbs up,’ signaling that what Steve had told you about the meaning behind the first word, ‘longing,’ was correct. You glanced over to Steve and nodded, mouthing, “the poem.” Steve frowned and dropped his gaze to the floor.

Dr. Bachman jotted a few words down and whispered, “What else did he say to you, Bucky?”

**Ř** “You will never go home for you have no home. You have no name. You will always be longing. Longing.” Bucky’s voice grew. **Ř**“Longing!” His body quaked, a shuddered breath rattled through his teeth.

Dr. Bachman stood and you followed suit. **Ř** “James Buchanan Barnes is your name. Those who love you call you, ‘Bucky.’ You _have_ a home. You are home,” he commanded.

Tears ran from Bucky’s eyes, into his hair, wetting the armrest. “I can’t have it, my name, my home. Dr. Fenhoff will punish me for trying.”

You hugged yourself, remembering that folder that contained all the details. Sharpened pins shoved beneath his fingernails or burns to his skin, the make-shift HYDRA serum healing the scars on the outside only. _I’m so sorry we’re making you remember this, Bucky._

**Ř** “Dr. Fenhoff cannot hurt you here. You are safe. You are free from your longing.”

“He…he’s coming,” Bucky breathed. “No, no!” His head turned. **Ř **“Always longing. Please, don’t.” A scream tore through his throat and Steve jumped up from his chair, hands curled in fists and his breathing heavy. He looked at you, eyes wide. Another scream from Bucky, who stayed frozen in place, as if tied down.

“Bucky!” Dr. Bachman shouted. “Bucky, you are safe here! They cannot hurt you!”

You stepped over to the couch and knelt down. “Bucky, breathe…listen to my voice. Breathe.” Before you could even blink, he knocked you away with his arm and flipped around to stand, his body in a tight knot. You caught yourself and pushed up off the floor, lifting a hand toward Steve before focusing on Bucky. “Lights out, James, it’s getting late,” you stated.

Bucky, whose glare had been aimed at Dr. Bachman drew his gaze to you. You nodded and stepped forward, your hand out toward him. He licked his lips and matched your movements. You took him through the lullaby, and as your fingers slipped down over his scars, he sat down on the edge of the couch and drew in some air.

At the third breath, he found you there, crouched in front of him, your hands on his knees. “Hey,” you whispered.

He gaped at you. “What happened?”

Dr. Bachman frowned. “You don’t remember?” He then swallowed and shook his head at Steve.

“The last thing I remember was feeling…feeling a Dr. _Fen_hoff?” You nodded at him and he continued, “He was next to me with a…” he licked his lips, “a blow torch lit.”

“Dear God,” you murmured.

“Dr. Bachman, are you sure hypnotherapy is going to work?” Steve asked, his voice a mixture of irritation and fear.

“It is the _only_ way, but I suspected this might happen.”

“What happened?” Bucky demanded. He covered your hands with his. “What did I do?” He could still feel the adrenaline pumping wildly through his veins. “Did I hurt you again?”

Dr. Bachman stepped over to the couch and sat next to him. “The words are…resistant.”

“Resistant?” Bucky asked, as he looked to Dr. B.

You shifted and moved to sit on the other side of him, as Steve came around from behind the couch and sat on the coffee table. It groaned a bit beneath him, but held, as Dr. Bachman continued, “The words are more than just a part of your subconscious, Bucky. They are _more_ than just ‘buried deep.’ They didn’t simply ‘coax’ you into each one. They burned them there, both figuratively and literally. Your body healed from the wounds, but your mind kept them, attaching the words to a punishment.”

“Then, how…?”

“We will have to be stronger, fight harder. At least we know that the meaning behind ‘longing’ was accurate. We will have to continue to modify our methods to break its hold on you. We won’t give up.”

“We’re all here for you, Buck,” Steve added.

Bucky nodded at his friend and then turned to you. “And you’re okay?”

“The lullaby worked again,” you whispered. “I’m so proud of you.”

He smiled and drew you into a hug. Despite your efforts to hold it in, you gasped.

When he’d knocked you back, your right shoulder had taken the brunt of the hit. You’d definitely end up with a bruise.

Bucky pulled away and searched your face. “You _are_ hurt. What did I do?”

You sighed and shook your head. “You just knocked me back. I honestly think you did it, as a way to protect me – get me away. I should really learn not to approach you when you’re battling.” You bit the bottom of your lip and smirked. “It’s fine. No real damage done.”

“Damn it,” he muttered. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Bucky. I promise.”

He furrowed his brow and then looked back at Dr. Bachman. “So what now?”

Dr. Bachman ran his hand down his face. “We will try again, but not today. We need to let your mind rest. I would like either myself or [Name] to take you back through your relaxation exercises. You came out of your hypnosis, violently. We need to take you back down to avoid nightmares or relapses.”

Steve watched the three of you, sitting across from him. Bucky was gently holding your hand with both of his, his right thumb running across your palm. _What heartache must he be going through? How would I feel, knowing I’d hurt Sharon without being conscious of it? _He shook his head.

Dr. Bachman noticed the change in Steve’s demeanor. “[Name], why don’t you take Bucky through the relaxation exercises, draw him out of those memories.” He pushed up off the couch. “Steve, I think you and I should have a talk.”

Steve stood and raised an eyebrow. “About?”

Dr. Bachman smiled and placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Why about Bucky’s treatment, of course. I’ve been remiss in not giving you more details. It’ll serve us all well, if you know what the plans are for the upcoming sessions, don’t you think?”

Steve grinned and nodded. “I’d like that.”

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Bucky added, smiling up at his friend.

After the two men left, you started to push up off the couch, but Bucky stopped you, scooting over so that he could bring a leg up and face you more directly. “Where?” he asked, reaching out to you.

You touched your shoulder and shrugged. “You pushed me away. That’s all.” Resting your hand on his cheek, you smiled. “I think I’m _learning_ my way through this – it’s unprecedented, taking someone out of this kind of programming.”

“I _hate_ that I keep hurting you.”

“Maybe I should ask the king to have a suit made for me?” You smirked and shifted closer to him. “I’ll be more careful next time, okay? This is on me.” You dropped your hand over his metal one and gave it a squeeze. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m walking along a fence? Balancing between two worlds? Does that make sense?” He furrowed his brow and chewed on his bottom lip. “It’s so weird.”

You nodded. “Makes perfect sense and I think we should take you through those relaxation exercises now before that other world settles itself.”

“Okay,” he sighed, waiting for you to stand before he moved to lie down.

You tugged the coffee table over and sat on the corner of it. “Close your eyes and take a deep breath for me.” You ran your thumb across his forehead and watched his chest rise and fall, as you talked him through it.

As his body relaxed, he let out a long breath and whispered, “Has anyone ever told you what an incredible voice you have? No wonder you do what you do. I think I could listen to you read the phonebook.”

You chuckled and leaned forward. “Ditto, Mr. Barnes.”

He opened his eyes and your breath hitched. You moved toward him, drawn to him, as if he were tugging you along by a rope. His hand went into your hair and you got so close, you could feel his breath on your lips. You stopped and pulled back, shaking your head. Tears sprung up and you frowned. “I…I’m sorry. I don’t know what it is about you.” His fingers ran through your hair and you trembled. “Never mind…I _do_ know what it is…”

“Oh?” he whispered, a slight smirk curling his lips.

You nodded and sniffled, glancing away before finding his face again. “You’re an amazing man, Bucky.”

His hand fell away and he sat up, his legs on each side of yours, surrounding them. “You’re an amazing woman, [Name], and I know we have to wait…and I’m okay with that. I don’t mind it at –”

Your lips covered his, stopping him mid-sentence, as your hands went into his hair. Your mind screamed out protests but your heart could no longer be denied. You pressed forward, crawling into his lap. His arms went around your waist, holding you tight. Pain in your shoulder was ignored. You were in bliss. Your entire body responded with something akin to joy and relief. You murmured his name and his lips parted. “I need you,” you sighed.

“I need you, too.”

A knocking at the door made you jump. You opened your eyes and blinked, as you glanced around your bedroom. The morning sun peeked through the curtains and you groaned and then muttered, “Damn, it was just a dream.” Your body pulsed with need but another knock drew you out of your sudden daydream. “One minute!” you called out.

As you rolled out of bed and tugged on a robe, the previous day filtered through your mind. You’d led Bucky through the relaxation exercises and then he went to meet with Sam, whilst you wrote copious notes about your first hypnotherapy experience with him. You’d had dinner in your room, barely eating, as you’d worked out a plan.

When you shuffled over and opened the door, Dr. Bachman greeted you with a smile. “My goodness, did I wake you?”

You glanced down at your messy attire and sighed, “You could say that.”

“I thought we could go through our notes during breakfast?”

You nodded and yawned. “Give me half an hour. Will that work?”

He glanced at his watch. “Sure.” He raised an eyebrow. “You all right? Did you sleep well?”

You rubbed your eyes with the palm of your hand. “Maybe too, um, well.” You peeked at him with one eye. “See you in the kitchen in 30, Dr. B.”

“Perfect.”

He turned and you shut the door, leaning against it. “I’m a psychologist, yes, but I’m a woman, too, damn it.” You groaned and stepped toward your bedroom and to the shower. As you turned the water on, you bit your lip and whispered, “Why does he have to be so wonderful?” 


	16. Chapter 16

_He figured it out._ You stared down at your notes and tried to tug the imaginary knife from your chest. Dr. Bachman had come up with a solution for removing the words from Bucky’s mind, while you dreamed about kissing him. You’d forgotten, once again, that your primary role in Bucky’s life was to be his psychologist not his love interest.

_It’s not a damn romance novel_.

“Did I lose you? [Name]?” Dr. Bachman’s voice was low, almost muffled by the sound of the blood rushing in your ears.

You looked up at him. “S…sorry. It’s just that…it makes so much sense. I can’t believe I didn’t see it. I spent hours trying to –”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve had a lot on your plate, what with the lullaby and Steve’s therapy, too.”

You pressed your fingers to the middle of your forehead, just above your nose. It wasn’t the lullaby or Steve’s therapy. You were like a lovesick puppy, having dreams about a man who needed your help, _first_. The dreams weren’t even the only issues. You caught yourself drifting constantly over the last few days. Maybe it was the relief over Bucky’s operations being successful, or maybe it was just the fact that the two of you had been able to spend a great deal of time together without talking about his de-programming or his recovery.

You’d walked the garden more times than you could count, talking about everything else in your lives _besides_ the impending therapy sessions. You’d been getting to know each other on a new level, building a foundation for something you both hoped to come in the future.

And no one could really fault you for that. After all, you were abstaining from nearly all physical contact, other than holding hands from time to time. Couldn’t getting to know Bucky help with his therapy, too? Understanding his feelings and the way his mind worked could be beneficial, right?

You swallowed and then chewed on your lower lip. The problem was that your fantasies about Bucky were interrupting your mission. You weren’t focusing. You were daydreaming, and now, the daydreams had filtered into nighttime, too.

You cleared your throat and finally managed a squeaky, “Right.”

Dr. B. raised an eyebrow. “[Name], is there something you’re not telling me?” He tilted his head, when you dropped your gaze. “You’re worried about Bucky.”

“Yes,” you whispered. “Of course…he needs his freedom.”

He gave a soft laugh. “It’s more than that, I’m guessing.” He sat back and sighed, glancing out the window to the lush greenery that surrounded the facility before drawing his attention back to you. “Sometimes our hearts get ahead of our minds, [Name]. You know this.”

You groaned, wondering what life-altering promise you could make that would allow the ground to swallow you up.

“If you’re wondering…” he waited until you stopped tapping your pen on your notepad, “he does love you.” You jerked your head toward him, your mouth open and he chuckled. “He hasn’t said those words exactly, [Name], and I don’t want to spoil the moment when he says them to you, but it’s clear to me that he does. I only tell you because I think you’re concerned that his feelings don’t match your own.”

You shook your head and sighed, “Actually, no. I can tell that he feels the same. The problem is that I’m so damn caught up in the ‘_feelings’_, I’m missing the obvious.” You point at his notes and slap your hand on the table. “I’m too busy daydreaming!”

His eyes grew wide and he leaned forward. “You’re worried about the job you’re doing?” When you gave him a pitiful look, he scoffed, “[Name], you have not once but _twice_ successfully administered the lullaby! You even took over part of the hypnotherapy yesterday, leading him through terrifying memories – and you did it without fear.”

Blinking back tears, you gave a slight shrug. “And with all of that, I still missed the key to his de-programming.”

He shook his head. “How long have we worked together?”

You furrowed your brow. “Uh, it’s been 15 months since I moved to Berlin.”

“And why did I hire you as my assistant?” he pressed.

You folded your arms and leaned on the table. “So we could work together…to help our patients.”

“Work together,” he repeated, smirking. “[Name], this isn’t _Jeopardy_. We’re not here trying to see if we can both come up with all the right answers. _You_ figure out things – like the lullaby, the meanings behind the words…” he peered at you, mirth covering his features, “and I discern other things, like how to break the words down and – when faced with a wall like we had yesterday, where the words won’t come loose – how to bulldoze that wall and get to them. We’re a _team_.”

You sniffled and wiped at your nose. “Thank you,” you whispered.

He grinned and reached out to pat your arm. “You are an amazing psychologist, [Name], but your confidence in yourself could use some work.”

“Maybe when Bucky is free, I can –”

“No,” he lifted a finger, “don’t tie yourself up that way. Your confidence comes from within. If you cling to successes in order to feel confident, then the failures will destroy you. You have to be confident, whether success or failure…and they both will come, my dear.”

You covered your face and sucked in air before letting your hands fall away. “You’re right. It’s what I’ve been telling Steve concerning his guilt. He can’t tie it up in Bucky’s successes. He has to free himself from it, by realizing that bad things happen that are outside our control.”

“And how is he doing with that?”

You smiled. “Pretty well, actually. He’s opening up more and more. He’s promised to talk to Sharon, Sam, and even Bucky about his struggles.”

Dr. Bachman nodded once and then pushed up from his chair. “He did very well in therapy yesterday. I know it must’ve been difficult for him to hold back.”

You stood and collected your notes. “I was very proud of him.” You gave a soft smile and nodded back behind you. “We should go. Bucky will be waiting.”

Dr. Bachman checked his watch and chuckled. “Your internal clock is never off…well, except this morning. I was so surprised to have to wake you.”

You hugged your notes to your chest, twirling your pen in your fingers. “I was, um, someplace else.” Before he could prod you, you muttered, “Let’s go.”

\---

Bucky stood in the hallway just outside the office, talking with Sam. He was wearing an ash-gray t-shirt and black jeans. His arms were folded across his chest and his brow was furrowed. Sam’s arms were in full motion, as he described something to Bucky, and you guessed it was bits of one of Sam’s missions.

When Bucky noticed you and Dr. Bachman walking toward them, his face lit up, making your heart race. His smile reached his eyes and his arms dropped. Sam turned and offered one of his lethal grins. He stepped forward, shaking Dr. Bachman’s hand and then faced you. “Good luck today.”

“Thanks, Sam,” you whispered.

“You want to stay?” Bucky asked, making Sam spin and drop his mouth open.

“You want me in there?”

“You were just telling me about the soldiers you helped right after your last mission.” He looked past Sam to you and Dr. Bachman. “If it’s all right with you.”

Dr. B. shrugged. “I don’t see the problem. He can sit by Steve – might actually be good for both of you.”

“I agree,” you offered. “I’ll grab another stool.” You handed Dr. Bachman your notes and turned.

Bucky slipped past both men and up next to you. “I’ll join you. I wanted to talk to you about yesterday before we started anyway.”

As you crossed the corridor toward Bucky’s living quarters, Steve jogged up to Dr. B. You could hear your boss filling Steve in on the plans to have Sam join the session just before you entered the first room. “Oh, good. I thought there was another stool in here,” you said.

“[Name],” Bucky whispered, as he turned on the light and shut the door behind him. When you stopped and turned to look at him, he furrowed his brow. “Are you okay?”

“I’m great.” You stepped forward. “Why do you ask?”

“It was tough yesterday. I hurt you again and,” he sighed, “we didn’t get very far.”

“My shoulder is fine. It doesn’t hurt unless I press on it. There’s barely a bruise.” You crossed back over to him, as he leaned against the door and dropped his head. “I’m sorry we didn’t get as far as we’d hoped, but Dr. Bachman _has_ found a solution. We’re going to go over it with you, first thing.”

He looked up and your breath hitched in your chest. _How could he do that with just a look?_ He reached out and pulled you into a hug. You returned it, willingly, settling against him, as he murmured, “I’m already tired, [Name]. We’ve just started and I’m already tired of the struggle. I want this to be over.”

You held onto him, your arms across his back. “I know you are and I don’t blame you for being tired of it already. It’s exhausting for you. You went through so much, when they put the words in. I know it’s daunting, when you think about us taking them back out again.”

“After yesterday, when the halls grew quiet, my body begged for sleep, but my mind wouldn’t let go.” He pulled back and looked at you. “For the first time since T’Challa took me out of cryo, I’m worried that I won’t ever be free.” He tugged himself out of your arms and walked over to the small couch, sitting hard on the edge of it. “I’m worried about the _cost_ of my de-programming. If I hurt you again? If I lash out physically or emotionally and I…I hurt you?” He shook his head. “I’m not worth all of this.”

You watched him for a moment. It seemed as if he had more to say, but the words wouldn’t come. You walked over and sat down next to him, resting a hand on his knee. “First…you _are_ worth it, no matter what comes.” He scoffed. “You _are_ – and you should know, there’s nothing…absolutely _nothing_ you could do or say that would change how I feel about you, other than to make me,” you swallowed and licked your lips, “even prouder of what you’re accomplishing. What you’re trying to break free from? It’s unprecedented…but you _will_ be free. You _will_. I promise.”

He sighed with relief and hugged you again, whispering, “Thank you.”

“It’s why I’m here.” You drew back and smiled at him. “You ready to get started?”

He stood and pulled you up, resting his hands on your hips. “I trust you and…and Dr. Bachman. I hope you know that.”

“Mm. I do and I know it’s hard. You’re allowed to doubt, too, by the way. I hope you always feel free to tell me when those doubts rise up.”

He gave your hips a gentle squeeze and smiled. “I promise. I will.” When you started to pull away, he stopped you, drawing your attention back up to him. “Speaking of doubts…”

You furrowed your brow. “Yes?”

He stared at your mouth and made it quite obvious, too. “I, um, I doubt I’m going to be able to wait much longer before I kiss you.”

Ugh. You could feel your cheeks burn, which made him chuckle. You tilted your head, your eyes darting all over his face. When you focused your gaze on him, you whispered, “Bucky,” and began to lean toward him. He followed suit, cupping your face with his cool metal hand. Just as you reached his lips, you turned and murmured in his ear, “Well, hang in there, patchy. It’ll be worth the wait.”

He groaned as you pulled away and slipped around him to grab the stool in the corner. Your laughter made him pout, but he dutifully followed you from the room, snatching the stool from your hands, to carry it.

Dr. Bachman, Steve, and Sam were inside the office, chatting, as you entered. Sam took the stool and set it next to Steve’s, muttering that he was grateful that it at least had a back to it. You watched as Bucky stepped over to the long couch and sat, waiting until you and Dr. B. took your places.

Dr. Bachman started the recorder but didn’t bother with the timer. He’d decided that morning that the two of you would take as much time as needed to break at least one word free from HYDRA’s wall.

He began with what he’d figured out, during his own time the night before. “We didn’t go back far enough. We need to find out _how_ Dr. Fenhoff found out about the poem. _How_ did he know it meant something to you? What means did he use to delve into your personal history?”

Bucky intertwined his fingers together, as he leaned forward, elbows on knees. You could tell he was searching for the memory and coming up empty. The frustration was clear. When he looked at you, you smiled and nodded. “It’s okay. We’ll find it.” You glanced at Steve and Sam and then continued, “You fought them off, Bucky. That’s well-documented. Zola almost gave up on you, but something must’ve clicked – and we’ve got to find out what it is so that we can re-build the memories of your past that they used against you. We need to make it right.”

“So I can be free,” Bucky whispered.

“So you can be free,” you returned.


	17. Chapter 17

_Trigger warnings: Mentions of forms of torture and some violence/blood_  
  
\---  


“There’s more,” said Dr. Bachman. He looked around the room at each face, focusing on Bucky’s before continuing, “There are two styles of hypnotherapy that I utilize. The one we used yesterday is the most common.”

Bucky furrowed his brow and leaned forward. A quick glance at you and then he licked his lips before saying, “What’s the other? I’m guessing you’re planning on using it this time?”

Dr. Bachman cleared his throat and pursed his lips. “It’s very different from yesterday, where we essentially had you keep one foot in the present. I guided you through it as your doctor. [Name] helped with the questions. That kind of thing.”

Bucky nodded. “Right. I understand.”

Dr. Bachman glanced at his notes and then continued, “Bucky, the other method is much harsher. I will be taking on the role _of_ Fenhoff. There will be no assurances that you’re safe. There’s only full immersion into the past. You will be transported much deeper into your subconscious. Finding the memories should be easier but the experience will be more painful. Pulling you out of the hypnotic state will be difficult. You will feel and see _everything_ you felt then, as if you are re-living it without barriers.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Steve jumped in, shifting in his chair. Bucky dropped his head, as everyone else looked over at the blond. He swallowed and licked his lips. “I don’t mean to question, but it sounds like more than what’s necessary?”

You couldn’t sit any longer. Pushing out of the chair, you walked over to the couch and stood next to Bucky, whilst looking at Steve. Bucky leaned his head against your leg, as you spoke, “It’s dangerous, Steve. _It is_. The problem is that HYDRA planted their programming into Bucky’s mind. They knitted it through his brain, like laces that were never meant to be removed.”

You glanced back at Dr. Bachman, who focused his attention on Steve and finished your thought, “I can no longer assume that my own voice will break the hold those words have on him. Fenhoff _lives_ in Bucky’s subconscious and the only way to convince his mind that the words that were put there can be released and no longer contain their power is to become the person that put them there in the first place.”

You watched Steve’s countenance change in seconds. He was battling his own demons along with Bucky’s. Sam turned to face him and asked, “You sure you want to be in here, man?”

Bucky leaned forward, elbows on knees and then dropped his head. Silence won the moment. He wanted Steve in the room, but that was before he knew the kind of hypnotherapy Dr. Bachman was going to use. It was in times like these that his old vision of Steve returned, a small and sickly boy that needed his protection. “You can go,” he said.

Steve stared at the back of Bucky’s head and stated, “I’m not leaving.” He then looked around at the other faces and repeated, “I’m _not _leaving,” before adding, “If it’s the only way to get the words out, then I’m going to be here for my friend.”

Silence filled the room again before Dr. Bachman broke through, “We should begin right away.” He looked at you and nodded. “[Name], the relaxation exercises, please.”

You stepped back and Bucky looked up at you. “You ready?” you asked.

“I’m ready,” he whispered before moving to lie down on the couch. You lead him through the exercises, until his breathing was steady and low, his body relaxed. You then found your chair and sat, waiting for Dr. Bachman to begin.

\---

_Half an hour later…_

“I hate this godforsaken place. It’s lifeless and dirty. Cold gray walls. Cold gray floor. I’m _always_ cold.” He wanted to cling to himself, to will the iciness away, but he was held fast, his arms behind his back.

“I’ve lost the seasons. There’s no summer here, no spring, no fall leaves being tugged from branches.” A guard shoved him down a long corridor, past his other ‘cage.’ “How many times have I been in and out of that machine?” he murmured.

He trembled and squeezed his eyes shut, his voice barely rising above a whisper, “What _year_ is it?” His eyes popped open, as he felt hands thrusting him into a chair. Thoughts tracked through his muddled brain. “Are people still looking for me or have they given up?” He shook his head. “Steve is stubborn. He’s probably out there, refusing to give up, probably expecting to…to find a body, covered in ice and snow.”

He rolled his lips, as his arms were locked into vices. He wrenched against them out of habit. “I’ve dreamed about being rescued – The Howling Commandos, with Steve at the helm, storming the place.” He let out an odd chuckle. “I could hear Steve’s voice and the rattling of keys and cell doors opening. I screamed, 'I’m here! At the end of the hall! Steve! I’m here!'”

He looked down at his bound arms and shifted against the bindings around his ankles. “A few times, the dreams won and Steve would appear, a smile on his face, as he opened the cell. Most of the time, though, a nightmare would prevail, and the sounds of the rescue faded away. I’d cling to the iron bars, screaming with no voice. ‘What about me? I’m alive! Don’t give up! Find me!’ I’d wake in a cold sweat, wondering if the nightmare was true. Had Steve come and then left without me?”

Steve clenched his jaw and blinked at tears. His hands curled into fists, as he pictured his friend waiting to be rescued. “Damn it,” he muttered.

You wiped your eyes and watched the blond soldier. You could see guilt wrapping its wicked fingers around him, like a cloud of dust, eating at his soul. He leaned forward, hands going into his hair, as he stared at the floor.

Sam was watching him closely, too, seconds away from leading him out of the room. He’d dealt with survivor’s guilt more times than he could count, his own included, but nothing was quite like this. There was an entirely different level of self-hatred brewing inside of Captain America.

Steve tugged away from Sam’s reach and sat up. He licked his lips and nodded, shifting and pulling his shoulders back. “I’m okay,” he mouthed.

“I’m in Russia.” Bucky’s voice interrupted. “I _must_ be. Why else would they demand I learn Russian? I’m surrounded by soldiers day and night, and now I can understand them when they mock me.”

Dr. Fenhoff entered, whispering to someone nearby that Bucky couldn’t see.

Bucky tried sitting up straighter in the chair, but it was pointless. The chair was created to hold him at a disadvantage, keep him slouched. His eyes narrowed toward his torturer, the man trying to re-write his history, change his brain and turn it to mush in the process. “I hate this place.”

“Pay attention, Sergeant Barnes,” Fenhoff demanded.

Bucky fought against his restraints, once more, just to annoy his captors. “What do you want from me?”

“You know what I want. You need to _look_ at me, unless you want the other –”

“No,” Bucky interrupted, drawing his gaze to the balding man, spinning that damned ring around his finger. “There. I’m looking at you.”

“That’s better. Now, tell me what I want to hear.”

“I kept those two letters I received from home with me, because that’s what soldiers do.” There was a pause. The silence almost drove Bucky crazier than the incessant questions.

When Fenhoff spoke again, his voice was filled with contempt, “Tell me, _soldier_, why just two? Why were those letters the most important ones?”

Bucky looked away, squeezing his eyes shut. “I _won’t_ give you my memories,” he growled, his jaw clenched. He dropped his head and whispered so low, he was practically mouthing the words, “I won’t let them have you, my love. моя любовь (moya lyubov').”

“What have I told you about complying, soldier?!” Fenhoff shouted.

Bucky froze and then trembled. “You…you can’t.”

“Look at me!” Fenhoff screeched.

Bucky twisted in his chair, his body rattling. “No! No, wait! I’ll do it! I’ll look at you! Not the head…_restraint_…” his voice faded, as a soldier approached and clamped the device to the back of Bucky’s chair, fixing it to his head, positioning it so that Bucky was facing Fenhoff directly. The soldier pushed the rings around his eyes and propped them open. The pain was excruciating and would only get worse, as his eyes dried out in the cold room. “You didn’t have to do this,” Bucky breathed.

Fenhoff ignored him. “That’s better. Now, tell me, soldier, what is it that I _can’t_ do?”

Bucky screamed, not from the physical pain of the contraption that held his head in place, but from the sheer frustration of reality. His bottom lip trembled. “You…can’t reach them. They…they’re safe.”

“You’re speaking in riddles, Sergeant Barnes.” Fenhoff sounded weary.

“And I suppose if I don’t say what you want to hear, the water board is prepped and ready. Is that it?” Bucky tried to sound bored and unafraid but his voice was thick, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.

“Is that what you want, soldier?” Fenhoff growled. He then let out a wicked laugh. “You cannot drown your sorrows away, you know.”

Bucky trembled, the desire to squeeze his eyes shut sending another scream through his throat. “You can’t kill them! You can’t do it!”

“Kill them? Whose lives are in my hands, now, hmm?”

Bucky licked his lips but it was pointless. They dried up, immediately.

“_Whose_ lives, soldier?!”

“My…my family’s,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “You have me. Isn’t that enough?”

Fenhoff leaned forward. “Would an attack on your family bring your cooperation? You have dragged this out long enough, don’t you think? So if we went for your family…your mother and father? Your sisters? Would you then do as I say, if it meant they were left alone or will it take their deaths to convince you?”

Bucky struggled against the restraints, howling, as the pain seared through him. “You’re lying! Em…empty threats!”

“You think I don’t have the power? To find them? To murder them while they sleep? Or perhaps we should capture them, bring them here and let you watch them die?”

Bucky yanked his arms, but they were held fast. His heart burned in his chest. “No…no, you can’t…”

His entire body shook, violently, making Steve slip to the end of his stool and lean forward. Sam gripped the armrests and glanced at you. You could feel the blood drain from your face. Bucky was reacting to something, but until he spoke, you’d be left in the dark.

A figure, then two, appeared at Bucky’s left, slowly coming into view. His body stiffened up. A soldier lead the other figure to stand directly in front of Bucky. The man placed heavy hands on her shoulders. She was dressed in rags and it took Bucky a moment to focus. Then, his heart stopped. He could feel life’s blood seeping from him. “What…why is _she _here? Why did you bring her here?!” he shouted.

Silence.

Bucky shuddered, gasping for breath, as his body heaved in the restraints. “Why did you bring her here? How?” Sweat beaded on his brow, his eyes wide. “No, no, no, no,” he whimpered. He pressed against the bindings and his voice cracked, “Rebecca?”

Steve jumped up, making the legs of his stool scrape on the floor. “What?!” he roared, unable to contain himself.

“Your sister, Rebecca?” Dr. Bachman said, trying to maintain his composure. Nothing in any of Bucky’s files indicated that his family had ever been harmed.

Sam took hold of Steve, who struggled against his friend. He grasped the back of the couch as he stared at Bucky, his mouth opened. Dr. Bachman gave Steve a stern look, jaw clenched. You quickly crossed the room, taking Steve by the arm and backing him away from the couch, toward the window. You pressed him against the wall and whispered, “Steve, please. You need to _sit_ _down_ or leave. If you break him out of hypnosis now, it could send him into a catatonic state. We’re in dangerous territory here.” You let go of him and pointed at Bucky.

Steve tore his gaze away from the couch and blinked at you, his eyes wet. He rolled his lips and shakily moved to sit in his chair without another word.

“Why did you bring her here?” Bucky’s voice cut into the silence of the room.

Dr. Bachman shifted in his chair. He didn’t know _why_ Fenhoff would’ve done such a thing or how. He had to think fast. “What do you think? Does she serve a purpose, soldier?”

“It is Rebecca, isn’t it?” he murmured. His vision was hazy, at best. His eyes were dry. He couldn’t focus on her, especially with her head hanging down. “Rebecca,” he managed. “Rebecca, it’s going to be okay. I’ll get you out of –” The soldier brought a glimmering knife up to her throat. “No! You don’t have to do that! I’ll comply! I’ll tell you whatever you want to know! Don’t hurt her!”

The soldier shifted and Rebecca began to whimper. “It’s okay,” Bucky whispered. “It’s –” The soldier clamped a hand on her shoulder and she screamed. The knife flashed in front of her and Bucky roared, “No!” She collapsed in a heap and blood immediately began to pool around her.

The next scream that Bucky unleashed rattled the windows and brought a herd of footsteps into the large room. A soldier approached, unlatching Bucky from every restraint and he fell forward, crawling across the floor to her. “No…no…how could they do this to you?” He blinked, as tears rushed up to his dry eyes. They poured down his face and mingled with her blood that he now sat in, as he scooped her into his arms. “I’m so…so sorry, Rebe –” his words fell away as he turned her face up to his. “This isn’t…” He glanced back at Fenhoff. “This isn’t Rebecca,” his voice cracked.

Silence.

“Now, you see what we are capable of.”

Bucky clenched his jaw and pushed up to his feet in one swift motion. The first few soldiers fell beneath his rage. He would rip Fenhoff into pieces. He was surrounded within seconds, a baton sweeping the back of his legs at his knees. They pressed his face to the concrete and he stared at the empty eyes of the girl who died to prove a point.

His body shifted and twisted, as he was dragged back to his restraints and clamped down. The soldiers were all sweating and out of breath by the time they had him in place.

“_Why_ were those letters so important to you?” Fenhoff demanded.

Bucky stared into the depths. The girl’s lifeless body lay across from him, her blood drying on his skin and clothes. Bloodied footprints made a pattern on the dirty floor. He licked his lips and felt his body empty. “Because they reminded me of my goal,” he muttered.

“And that was?”

“To go home.” He drew his gaze to the man he now knew would cross _every_ line. “Come to me in my dreams, and then by day I shall be well again. For then the night will more than pay the hopeless longing of the day.” Tears slipped down his cheeks.

**Ř** “You are longing for home, soldier?”

**Ř** “Yes.” He curled his hands into fists. “More than ever.”

**Ř** “Then your longing will be satisfied,” Fenhoff said.

**Ř** “What?”

**Ř** “One day you _will_ be home again.”

Dr. Bachman pulled at every piece of information that he knew. When Bucky had said that the girl was not his sister, it stirred a memory of one of the documents that he’d read about a mystery visitor at her nursing home. Bucky had found a way to go to her.

**Ř** “You will see your sister again. You will see Steve Rogers again. Your longing will be fulfilled, Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky trembled and more tears pooled in his eyes. **Ř** “I’ll…I’ll be home?”

**Ř** “Yes.”

**Ř** “And the longing I feel, even now?”

**Ř** “Longing has no hold on you, Bucky. Longing has no power. You will be free.” 


	18. Chapter 18

_Five hours later…_

After changing out of your suit and into a navy t-shirt and heather-gray shorts, you lay on a blanket near the center of the enclosed garden. Your toes curled in the cool grass, as you absorbed the evening settling in around you. A warm breeze caressed your cheek, as trees whispered in your ears.

Off to the right, a low rumble of determined bees collected their last puffs of golden treasure from the bright blooms of tiger lilies before buzzing back to their hive to slumber. The pinks and purples that were draped across the sky slowly gave way to a black carpet filled with twinkling stars. You sucked in air and sighed through your nose.

Bringing Bucky out of the deep hypnosis had required another administration of the lullaby, as his pain gave way to anger and lashing out. You’d had to do everything in your power to stave off interruptions from both Steve and Sam, as you took hold of Bucky’s mind. The way Bucky had lowered his head at you, before you spoke the words, “Lights out, James, it’s getting late,” had made you shudder.

You weren’t scared of him, not really. You were merely _aware_ of what he was capable of, in that transient state between hypnosis and consciousness. Steve had pulled you aside right after, asking if Bucky was the Winter Soldier during those moments. You assured him that he was not. _He’s a man suffering with PTSD who’s just relived one of many horrific moments of his life._

You blinked. That was what you’d told Steve and as you stared up at the stars, you still knew it was true. He wasn’t the Winter Soldier. You and Dr. Bachman were releasing him from ever going there again. And he was one-word free already. He was going to make it, but in the process, even with the freedom he was gaining, the remnants of hell wouldn’t dissipate just because you were all wishing for it.

Footsteps on the path drew your gaze and you found Bucky standing behind you. You sat up and shifted. “How’re you feeling?” you whispered, as if nymphs and fairies hid in the bushes, listening to your every word. _There _were_ the bees, after all, and how well could they keep secrets?_

“Better?” he returned, pulling a face. “Could I join you?”

You smiled and patted the blanket. “There’s room for two.”

Relief coated his features and he stepped over, keeping his booted feet off the blanket, as he sat. “You look comfortable.” He tilted his head. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you dressed so lightly –”

“Sure you have,” you interrupted, nudging him. “That time I found you out here in the middle of the night?”

His cheeks reddened, as he remembered the near-kisses. “Right.” He tugged his boots off and crisscrossed his legs. Silence dropped from the sky over you, weighing your shoulders down.

You pulled your knees up and folded your arms on them before resting your head against the crook of your elbow. You stared at him, your eyes wide, wishing he’d return the gaze. He kept his head down and you gave up, murmuring, “It was harder than you thought it’d be, wasn’t it?”

“Mm,” he grunted, picking at a blade of grass.

You turned your head and put your chin on your arm. It stung, bone to flesh, but you didn’t want to keep staring at him. “We don’t have to talk about it. I’m sure you’re talked out by now.”

“I don’t –,” he started and then huffed. He pressed his hands at his sides on the blanket and then laid down on it. You glanced back at him and he was focused on the sky. The moon was just beginning to peek past the rim of the buildings, flooding the space with light. His jawline tightened, his eyes full of worry. The gray in them swallowed the blue and he rolled his lips.

You turned to face him, crisscrossing your legs. You placed a hand over his and, quite suddenly, he flipped it and grasped your hand. You swallowed. “Bucky, you don’t have to be brave –”

“I don’t want to do it again,” he spat out, as if he were afraid of the words.

You furrowed your brow. “The hypnosis?”

He gulped air and you could see his throat move. He licked his lips, his bottom one trembling. His eyes glossed over but he sucked in air, keeping the actual tears at bay. “I know that…that we broke through today…that Dr. B. broke the power of the first word, but…”

You lifted his hand and pressed your lips against his knuckles before covering it with your other hand and lowering it to your lap. “You know, Dr. B. and I have talked about how the other nine words…well, they might be useless now that the first one holds no impact.”

“But he thinks the others need to be removed anyway, just in case,” he sighed. “I know.”

“Bucky, look at me.”

Determined fear traced lines in his face and he sighed, “I can’t.”

“Please?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“No?” you scoffed. “Do you want me to make you?” you whispered.

He huffed and glanced off to his left. “This is not a game,” he muttered.

“All right, maybe you do.” You released his hand and positioned yourself on your knees. Within seconds, you were straddling him. His mouth opened, as you scooted forward and lowered your head just above his, following him, as he moved his head around.

When he finally let his eyes focus on yours, he let out an exasperated sigh. You smirked. “Better.” Growing serious, you added, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. I’m here to help and so is Dr. B., but ultimately, the next step in your therapy is up to _you_.”

Your hair lost the battle against gravity and fell forward. It brushed his cheeks and his breath caught. “I want to get rid of all of the words, but I don’t…” he swallowed, “I don’t know if I can go that deep again.”

You sat back on his hips and his hands, which he’d been holding in place in a desperate effort to keep from drawing you into him, went to your waist. “You’re worried,” you stated, hoping he’d give you more. You didn’t want to put words in his mouth, plus, you were acutely aware of your position and how he was holding you.

“I thought,” he licked his lips, “I thought that Dr. B. breaking a word would mean that coming back from that place would be easier, but it felt like my body was being ripped in half. I felt…I felt like I did, when they put the words _in_ all those years ago.”

You nodded. “It’s a dangerous method of hypnotherapy.” You frowned and glanced away for a moment, sighing, “We didn’t give you enough time to _think_ about it, about the repercussions.” You dropped your gaze to him. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head and squeezed your waist, his metal hand cool, even through your t-shirt. “I would’ve chosen to try it, no matter how much time you gave me. I needed to…to have some sense of normalcy again. I’d always had this shadow behind me, threatening to consume me. What if someone broke in and used the words? What if they drove me into _another_ killing spree?” He shook his head again. “So many reasons to do whatever it took to break out of the programming.”

“And now that you’ve experienced what it takes…”

“I’m terrified that the next time or the time after that,” his voice cracked, “I won’t be able to come back.”

“So then, we let it go. The first word is now _powerless_. It was the…” you furrowed your brow and snapped your fingers, “the…”

“Fuse?” he offered, a small chuckle escaping.

You bit your lip and nodded. “Exactly. The fuse that lit the rest of the words – at least, that’s what Dr. Bachman and I think.”

“It makes sense,” he admitted, nodding.

“It does – but there’s only one way to know for sure, and neither Dr. B. nor I want to test our theory.” You frowned.

He joined you, his lips tugged down. “Which is why he wants to…remove all of them.”

You touched his face, brushing his hair back off his forehead. “Maybe we could figure out another way,” you tried.

Your fingertips were soft, like a balm against the fear that filtered through him. He closed his eyes, unable to put words together. His hands curled at your waist and you stopped. He could feel you shift against his hips and he opened his eyes. You were watching him, your head tilted, just slightly, to the left. The breeze ran through your hair. The moon brought shadows and light, accentuating your features.

He wanted to draw you into him, forget the last hours of hell, and just hold you, let your warmth seep into the lasting cold that griped him. _You’re my freedom. You’re all I need_.

“Bucky?” you whispered.

He furrowed his brow and cleared his throat. “Sorry…you were saying, um, another way?” You nodded. “Like what? Have something in mind?”

You sighed, your shoulders dropping. You looked away and shrugged. “What if…what if we built in a tool for you – like the lullaby but something you could do on your own? If someone tries to use the words and you hear them say, ‘Longing,’ in Russian, of course…you could apply the tool to stop them?” You sighed again and covered your face. “I don’t know. Sounds dumb, saying it out loud.”

“Don’t,” he murmured. “It’s not dumb.” He tugged at your arms, pulling them from your face. “It’s worth exploring.”

“But it would require another test,” you groaned. Nothing. Nothing you could offer him would be good enough. There was always pain – laced in every idea, every solution. You hated it, all of it. “I’m sorry, Bucky, I…I feel like I’m failing you…again, and –”

He waited for you to look at him, and when you did, your breath caught. The blue in his eyes returned, as he studied you. _Say it. Just tell her_. “You’re not a failure, [Name].” _Not that, not _just_ that. Tell her that she’s all you need. Didn’t a kiss give the cure in all the fairy tales? _He smiled, a wide, moon-catching smile.

_Was that humor in his eyes? Why is he looking at me like_ – “What?” you huffed, turning your head a bit to side-eye him.

His hands slipped down, just enough to color your cheeks, and he knew you felt exposed, sitting there on his hips – but you’d put yourself in this position. “[Name], what if I decide that I don’t need to finish…that the first word being broken is enough…that you and Dr. B….you don’t need to do anything else…” his words faded, making you lift an eyebrow.

You could feel your cheeks burning, your body warming even with the breeze flowing through the garden. “Well, I did tell you that it’s up to you, right? So I suppose –”

“Would that mean my therapy is over and I could kiss you?”

_James Buchanan Barnes!_ You brought a fist to your lips, coughing – almost choking. You wheezed and he chuckled. You narrowed your eyes for a moment before catching a breath. “Ja, err, Bucky…I think, uh –”

“Therapy ending means we can kiss…right?”

He was teasing you. Such a tease. “Well, I don’t know. I –”

“You made the rules.” You glared at him and he chuckled again. “Okay, _we_ made the rules, together, I guess.” Oh, you wanted to cover your face or was that more of a deer-in-headlights look? Were you about to bolt? “We decided that this…” he furrowed his brow, motioning between the two of you, “you still feel it, right?”

You looked away and nodded. _Every. Damned. Second_.

“We’ve been through enough already. You –” He froze. _This isn’t right. Not like this_. He sat up, making you gasp. He slipped his arms around you, holding you in his lap. “[Name], look at me,” he whispered.

You drew your gaze to him. _His eyes, his hair falling around his face, that jawline, those…lips._ You focused on the flecks of gray in his eyes, highlighted by the moon. _Say something, Bucky. I’m looking at you, so say something!_

“You mentioned…you mentioned before that the first word is powerless and I feel it, [Name]. I feel the release.”

_His hands, one cool and one warm, his chest – taut and strong, his legs – pure muscle, powerful __–__ his back __–__ even out of sight __–__ the build of it was ingrained in your memory – _You blinked._ My turn. Speak, [Name]!_ “That…that’s wonderful.” You studied him. Had he ever looked at you this way before?

“Maybe I really don’t need anything more…from the psychology-side of things,” he huffed, pursing his lips. _Why’s it so difficult?_ _Tell her._“You’re all I need.” There. He said it and the words hung out in the open, like fairy dust – an offering.

Your ears perked, listening. Listening for doors opening at the entrance to the garden or footsteps on the path. Listening for voices in the distance or the rattling of windows. Listening for…interruption. The trees swayed and your heart thumped against your chest. Nothing met your ears that could stop you. You lifted your hands to cup his face and without a word, pressed your lips to his.

Your fingers slid into his hair, as he clung to you. His metal hand moved to the back of your neck and his lips parted. You pressed harder against him, tasting the sweetness of his mouth. You wrapped your arms around him and scooted forward, until no light slipped between you.

Something akin to lightning surged through his veins. _All I need. You’re all I need._ He couldn’t get enough. His kisses seemed inadequate, his touch lacking. He’d dreamed of this moment for so long and he needed to savor it. He was free and you were in his arms.

Blood rushed into his ears and then something in his brain snapped, like a tightly-woven thread had frayed and could no longer hold. His eyes shot open. _Fenhoff?_

**Ř ** _Longing…rusted…_

“No!” He shoved Fenhoff away, but still the man’s voice infiltrated, the words coming faster now.

**Ř** _ seventeen, daybreak, furnace…_

“Stop!” he shouted.

**Ř** _nine…_

Bucky shook his head. There was nothing he could do. His mind was trapped. Fenhoff smirked.

**Ř** _benign…_

You gaped at him, wide-eyed, your body aching. He’d shoved you several feet away, sending you tumbling across the path and into a bush. Cuts and scrapes ignored, you tried shouting his name a few times. He gave nothing but a vacant stare in return and then, his trembling stopped. You licked your lips and screamed, “Lights out, James, it’s getting late!”

**Ř** _homecoming, one, freight train…_

Bucky lowered his head at you, his eyes flashing, as he slowly stood up. You scrambled to your feet and held your hand out, palm toward him. “Lights, out, James, it’s getting late,” you repeated, your body quaking.

**Ř** _ Good evening, Soldier._

Bucky swallowed and clenched his jaw. **Ř** “Ready to comply.”

**Ř** _End her…now._


	19. Chapter 19

Steve twitched, his eyelids fluttering, as he fell deeper into REM sleep. _Darkness surrounded him and it felt cold, cold and wet. He moved out of the pilot’s seat and grabbed his shield. Water rose up around him. The Valkyrie shifted and groaned in the ice, loud cracks beneath him. Sinking and sinking. His teeth chattered as the light faded. He closed his eyes and let himself float in the frigid water, ready to succumb to death._

_What about me, Steve? Where were you? Why didn’t you find me? I waited…day and night for my best friend…my _brother_. ‘Til the end of the line – wasn’t that what we used to say? But you abandoned me – you abandoned all of us for 70 years of slumber…_

His brows furrowed. Someone was shaking him. _Steve! Steve, wake up! Steve!_

“Please! Steve!!”

He sucked in air and jerked awake. Sharon was standing over him, hands on his shoulders, her eyes wide with fear and her lips drawn tight. He sat up and blinked. _It’s still dark outside._

Sharon huffed out a breath. Her heart was thumping in her chest, as she sat down on the edge of the bed. She dropped her gaze and whispered, “Steve, it’s Bucky. He –”

Steve shifted, kicking his feet off the bed. They stood together and he and grabbed a t-shirt, shirking into it. “What happened?” he breathed.

“We’re not sure – not yet,” she sighed, frowning. She swallowed and placed her hand on his arm. “Steve, all I know is that it’s bad. Sam’s on the phone, trying to reach Natasha – someone said something about a malfunction.” She shook her head, unnerved by what she’d seen before she ran to wake Steve. She gave his arm a squeeze and added, “He’s in an OR.”

Steve stopped scanning the room for his shoes and gaped at her. “What?” he choked out. _You abandoned me…_

She stepped quickly over to the desk and in one swoop, retrieved his shoes from beneath it. He met her halfway, taking them and hopping on one foot at a time, as he tugged them on. She nodded toward the door. “Let’s go.”

\---

_Twenty minutes earlier…_

You rolled your lips and swallowed hard, your throat on fire. _Russian. He spoke Russian._ He stared at you with death in his eyes, as all traces of the blue vanished again, replaced with dark gray storm clouds swirling beneath heavy lids. “Bucky,” you whispered. “What just happened? What did you see? Who were you talking to?” Your words rushed out, almost too fast for your mouth to keep up.

He took a step, clenching and unclenching his fists. _End her…now_.

_The lullaby._ “Uh…” _The words – say them_. “Lights out, James, it’s getting late,” you managed, your voice cracking. You cleared your throat.

He froze in place, his stance betraying his mind. You were all alone in the middle of the garden with the Winter Soldier. You gulped in air. Was anyone even bothering to monitor the cameras? And if they were, would they realize what was happening here?

You pulled air through your nose and tried again. “Lights out, James, it’s getting late.” Your voice was stronger this time and you lifted your chin.

A groan escaped between his lips and he pressed his fingers against his temples. Bright streaks of color and excruciating pain shot across his brain and he let out a low growl.

You tilted your head and took a step forward, hand still out in front of you. “Lights…out…James…it’s getting late.” _Hear me. C’mon, Bucky. I know you’re in there._

Your foot hit the path and his head popped up. He began heaving in breath after breath, staring at you. His eyes were wide and pleading. “I…I don’t want to hurt…you,” he grumbled. His head jerked back and he screamed up into the night sky. When he dropped his gaze, his eyes flashed and through clenched teeth, he spat out, “_Run_.”

“No.” You narrowed your eyes and straightened your back. “Listen to me,” you demanded. You shoved your hand further out toward him and began to cross the path. “Lights out, James, it’s getting –”

Bucky doubled over, going to his knees in the grass. A tormented cry ripped through his throat, rattling the windows. He pressed his hands to his head. A blood-curdling howl emanated from deep inside and he rocked backwards before toppling face-forward in front of you.

“Bucky!” you screeched, scrambling to him. He was writhing in pain, his body stiffening in between severe jerks. You grabbed him, forcing him to his side, his head in your lap. “Bucky…what…” Blood oozed from behind his ear, as his body stilled. His eyes were closed but foam trickled from his lips.

You looked up toward what you hoped was a camera and screamed, “Someone help! Help us!”

You wiped your shirt on the foam and with a trembling touch, lifted one eyelid. An empty gray gaze met you and you sucked in air. _No, no, no_. “Bucky, please,” you murmured. You pressed two fingers against his neck, finding a low pulse. His breathing was barely detectable and tears rushed from your eyes.

Windows rattled and footsteps, more than you could distinguish, barreled toward you.

Blood dripped onto your legs from his mysterious wound. You couldn’t make sense of it. Your mind was fogged, hazy. What had just happened? Was it just a nightmare?

Voices mingled with scrambling footsteps and you were outside of your own body. Hands pulled you away from Bucky, despite your voice begging them to let you stay. There were questions and demands, soft words turning into shouts. Squeaky wheels and grunts, as men lifted your beloved onto a gurney.

You were disassociating from shock. You knew all the signs. You’d treated patients for it, but it was softer here, where you could drown out the fear by floating above it. Then the darkness came, like a soothing blanket, and covered you up.

\---

You woke with a jolt, sitting up, as you grasped for air. A tiny lamp in the corner provided the only light to the room, and once you cleared your vision with a shake of your head, you found it illuminated the sharp features of a soldier.

Steve sat up and then stood, walking over to the bed you were sitting on. “Hey,” he whispered.

You dropped your hands into your lap and gasped, finding something flaky and dark there. _Bucky’s blood._ It wasn’t just a nightmare. You swallowed and licked your lips, unable to find moisture. “What…what happened?” you managed.

Steve reached out for a cup on the bedside table, holding it out to you. He waited until you put your lips to the straw and took a sip, to sit down on the edge of the bed. “You passe –”

“I don’t give a damn about what happened to me,” you interrupted. “Where’s Bucky?”

He dropped his head. “He’s in surgery.”

You turned hard, bumping the cup in his hand. He griped it and then set it back down on the table, watching as you stood to your bare feet and held out your arms for balance. “Surgery?” you muttered.

“There was another device.” He reached out and took your hand, tugging you back to sit on the bed.

“Behind his ear,” you murmured, staring blankly at the wall. “He was…he was bleeding…”

Steve let out a long, heavy sigh, “None of the body scans they did when we arrived found it. It was hidden, just like the one in his eye – only –”

“There were no diagrams in the red journal to –”

It seemed neither of you could finish a sentence. It was all too wicked and ugly to think about – that HYDRA had implanted Bucky with devices that could control him, even when they weren’t around, like he was their robot, their machine.

You squinted your eyes at the lamp. “What happened to it?” you whispered.

Steve grunted and then rubbed his eyes. “They think the deprogramming – the change in his memory of the first word – the device was trying to take him back, force him back into compliance.”

“It did,” you breathed, “he was…I _saw_ the Winter Soldier,” you wrinkled your brow, “but also…”

He looked at you. “Also?”

You lifted your gaze to him and a tear ran down your cheek. “He told me he didn’t want to hurt me. He told me to run.”

Steve covered his face and leaned forward, elbows on knees. “So the deprogramming _did_ work…it was working against the device and –”

“He was battling for his own mind.” Your voice was barely audible. You were overcome with all of it. “He was battling for me.”

Steve sat up, although remaining slightly slouched over. He slipped his arm around you and drew you in.

You buried your face into his shirt and wrapped your arms around his waist, as you let the tears come.

\---

_Four hours later…_

You’d been pacing the corridor for so long, your entire body ached. Sharon had brought you shoes and a washcloth to wipe away the blood, and then you’d found your place near the operating room, walking the line – back and forth.

Dr. Bachman had located T’Challa and they were off somewhere in deep discussion about the new developments in Bucky’s deprogramming. You’d been invited to join them, of course, but refused. You needed to be near Bucky. You couldn’t imagine _not_ being just outside the door, when Dr. Chapman finally exited that _blasted_ room and gave you some _damned_ information.

Sharon and Sam were both in the main control room, making phone calls and gathering whatever other information they could about HYDRA and their methods.

That left you and Steve to pace. He’d pass you and your shoulders would brush each other’s. You stopped checking your watch, barely holding back from yanking it off and tossing it against the wall.

Did these people not realize how painful it was to wait and hear nothing? You were smart enough to figure out that the device had shorted out or burned up or…or something, as it failed. A corner of your mouth curled up. _It failed. You failed, HYDRA_.

You thought about how you’d kept saying the words of the lullaby, over and over. You and Dr. Bachman were now a part of Bucky’s brain – you were in it, giving him his freedom, bit-by-bit.

You slammed a fist into your hand. _If only they’d found that device before!_ You pressed fingers to your temples and stopped in your tracks. “How many more are there?” you whispered.

Steve paused and looked at you. “What?”

You faced him and frowned. “Devices. How many more did they put in him?”

“There aren’t anymore,” Natasha said, as she stepped around the corner, quiet as a cat.

You and Steve both spun around and she offered a small smile. You licked your lips. “How do you know?”

She lifted a file folder. “It took some doing, but I found this – the device in his eye was put in decades ago but the one behind his ear? Only a month or so before S.H.I.E.L.D. collapsed and HYDRA was found buried inside it.”

You reached out for the folder and she handed it to you. Steve stepped close, looking over your shoulder, as you opened it. Pictures and diagrams assaulted you – details of all the procedures they’d put Bucky through over the years – one page after the other. It made you feel sick.

You glanced past Steve toward the OR and frowned. “They never stopped, did they?” you sighed.

Steve gently took the folder and moved over to a row of chairs to sit down with it. You bit your lower lip and watched him, running his finger down each page before turning to the next.

Hugging yourself, you looked back at Natasha. “Thanks for…for finding that.”

She rocked back on her heels and let out a sigh, “It’s been a day…” She lifted an eyebrow. “How’re you holding up?”

You shrugged. “I’d be doing better, if I knew what was happening behind that godforsaken door.”

Natasha glanced at it. “I heard about everything that happened.” She folded her arms in front of her. “Crazy stuff – but [Name], the deprogramming…it’s working and now that the other device is…gone –”

“I know,” you offered, still staring at the door. “I just…” you looked at her and she met your gaze, “I’m tired of him being in pain – of there always being _something_. I…I’ve never been a fan of violence, but I could murder every single person involved in…in hurting him and I could do it with my bare hands.”

Natasha let out a chuckle. “I have no doubt you could and you wouldn’t have to do it alone.”

The door to the OR shook and then opened slowly. Steve scrambled, shutting the folder and standing. You met him, mid-step, as you both approached Dr. Chapman, Natasha just behind you.

Dr. Chapman removed his surgical gloves and held them in one hand. He looked weary but he gave a gleaming smile. “We…we got it, all of it.”

You breathed a sigh of relief and felt Steve press his forehead on your shoulder, his warm breath floating down your arm. When he pulled back, the doctor continued, “His brain has some mending to do, though. The device – when it malfunctioned, sent electric shocks through him.” He shook his head. “The human body is quite extraordinary and in this case, Bucky’s won a major war with an intricate piece of technology – but, as with all battles, there was injury.”

You gasped and he held up a hand. “Nothing his enhanced healing cannot work through. In fact, I think the…_episode_ actually kick started that decades-old serum in him. He was already healing, as we worked.” He shook his head and let out a soft laugh. “Extraordinary.”

You pressed a hand to your chest, willing your heart to settle so you could speak. You took a long breath and asked, “When can I…I mean, _we_ see him?”

“They’re finishing up now and will move him to recovery.” He glanced at his watch. “Give him til morning.” He nodded at you and Steve. “I think we all could use the rest.”

You sighed, letting out a groan. There was no way you were going to sleep, until you could see Bucky breathing and safe again.

The door opened, as if on cue, and the back of a man appeared, tugging a gurney along. Steve’s arm slipped around you, as Bucky was wheeled out into the corridor.

An oxygen mask covered most of his face. A large patch of gauze padded his neck, just behind his ear. He was in a hospital gown, an IV tube coming out from his right arm.

“We will get you a bed for the recovery room,” T’Challa spoke up from behind, making you jump.

You turned and looked at him, tears filling your eyes. Letting out a sigh of relief, you whispered, “Thank you.”

\---

While appreciated, the bed remained empty, as you sat on a rolling, backless stool next to Bucky’s bed. Minutes after T’Challa appeared, Sharon had showed up with more information on HYDRA than anyone thought possible. Despite wanting to check on Bucky, Steve had given in, picking up the file that Natasha had brought and following Sharon and Natasha back toward the main control room.

You sat staring at Bucky’s face in the semi-darkness, watching his chest rise and fall with each breath. Natasha’s words flitted around in your mind. _There aren’t anymore. The deprogramming…it’s working._

_It’s been a day…_

You let out a long, slow sigh, your fingertips caressing his hand before moving to his brow. “That’s the understatement of the century,” you murmured. 


	20. Chapter 20

_An undetermined amount of time later…_

“You ever feel a range of emotions in a span of about 15 minutes?” you asked, giving Dr. Bachman a quick glance.

Your boss and friend sat in a chair against the wall on the opposite side of the room, forcing you to look across Bucky’s sleeping figure to see him. “Mm,” he grunted. He had files and notepads stacked on a small table near his seat, but he’d yet to touch them since he’d stepped into the room at half past eight in the morning. He’d brought you fresh clothes, though, keeping watch over Bucky, while you changed.

When you didn’t say anything else, he prompted you, “What emotions?”

Your eyes flitted up to Bucky’s face and you swallowed. “Deep sadness?... Pure relief and uh, murderous rage?” You frowned, adding, “I also have this empty pit in my stomach…” you shrugged, “chalked it up to this overwhelming feeling of being powerless to do a damned thing…”

He leaned his head forward a bit and lifted an eyebrow. “Anything else?”

You let out a sad laugh, as you reached out to touch Bucky’s brow. “Impetuous love?”

He grunted again. “Impetuous?”

You kept your focus on Bucky, your mouth turned down. “Unruly? Rash? Selfish?”

“[Name],” he scolded.

You grazed Bucky’s cheek with your fingertips. “Do I have the right?”

Dr. Bachman stood and walked up to the other side of the bed. “Of course, you do.”

You shrugged, holding your tongue. If he only realized the battle you were fighting.

He drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “It’s…this case.” He shook his head. “No. It’s more than just a case. It’s this whole…situation…it’s so hard to take hold of. Just when I think we’re moving along, getting things underway…” He frowned, as he watched you.

You hadn’t slept at all – that was clear. In truth, he hadn’t gotten more than an hour or so of tossing and turning, himself. You smoothed out the bedsheet and he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“For?” you returned.

“For telling you to…to keep your feelings for him put away until we were through – for shoving this case into a folder, of sorts, and slapping a label on it.” He sighed and shook his head. “If not for his feelings for you…and yours for him – if not for the lullaby and for his desperate need to protect you…” he pursed his lips for a second and then croaked out, “there would’ve been a far more tragic outcome…”

You rested your hand against Bucky’s shoulder. “I’d like to believe that’s the reason, but honestly, Dr. B.? Bucky…he never wanted to hurt anyone.” You drew your gaze up, tear-filled eyes locking onto his. You furrowed your brow and looked past him to the wall. “The _truth_ is – every inch of the strength, determination, and…_goodness_ in him…it’s who he’s always been.” A tear trickled down your cheek and dripped onto your t-shirt.

“_Love_ gives strength, my dear.”

You shook your head and wiped at your cheek. “Not this time – in fact, if we hadn’t…you know – he wouldn’t have –” You frowned and turned away from the doctor’s scrutiny.

“[Name], you don’t think that the intimacy you shared –”

You groaned and covered your face. “We kissed and then his brain snapped.” You folded your arms in front of you. “I mean,” you scoffed, “you’re not going to try to convince me that it had nothing –”

“It had nothing to do with it,” Dr. Bachman interrupted, his voice stern. “That was just a very bad coincidence. That device was,” he huffed and marched up to you, taking you by your upper arms, “the device was _working_ on him from the moment his mind began to believe that the word ‘longing’ held no power – that _his_ _longing_ for home would be satisfied.”

You sniffled, keeping your gaze on the window. Your chest hurt, an ache like you’d never felt before in your life. You blinked at the tears that formed, your eyelashes growing heavy.

He tilted his head, leaning to the side, until you looked at him. “You _know_ this!” he squeaked out, trying to keep from disturbing Bucky. “You’re letting emotions stand in the way of reason!”

You glared at him. “You want me to be reasonable?” You jerked out of his grip, clenching your jaw, as you motioned him out of the room. You managed to slip into an empty one across the hall without being noticed, Dr. Bachman just behind you.

You flicked on the light and he shut the door before you continued, “Is it reasonable or perhaps too _emotional_ for me to think that as he writhed on the ground, foam on his lips, blood seeping from his body… that he…he was going to die?” You lifted your hands and slapped them on your thighs. “Is it reason or emotion _screaming_ in my ears that…that I have failed him again?”

You curled your hands into fists and pushed them against your eyes. “Everything I’ve done from the moment I walked into his life has ultimately brought him pain!” You sucked in air and spun on your heel. Your body trembled, as sobs rose to the surface.

Through tightened lips you mocked your past efforts. “Here, Bucky, let me teach you this lullaby so we can test it with some horrific memory.”

You turned around and pressed a fist into your chest, letting the tears flow freely. “Hey! Sergeant Barnes, why don’t you lie here on this couch and let me drown you in hell?!”

Dr. Bachman stepped forward then, dragging you into an embrace. You clung to his shoulders and buried your face against his chest. He said nothing, only letting you cry.

A minute passed, maybe two before you took a deep breath and sighed, “I know it’s dumb to…to blame anyone but HYDRA. I _know_ that in order for him to be free he has to –” You bit on your lower lip and pulled back, looking up at Dr. B. “I’ve just never been so afraid for another person in my life…and I’m _tired_. I’m so tired of seeing him in pain.”

He pulled air through his nose and studied you, his thick eyebrows stitching together. He pursed his lips and nodded before gently leading you back across the hall, without a word.

He pushed the door to Bucky’s room open and directed you inside. With his hands on your shoulders, he pointed you toward the bed. “Look at the battle-worn soldier, [Name]. Look at his face.” His voice rose in a slight lilt. He was almost giddy. “He won the war last night. Whatever else HYDRA has in his mind has been weakened beyond repair. He quite literally burst that device, ending their hold on him and _look_ _at his face_, [Name]…”

Tears streamed down your cheeks, your nose stinging from them, eyes blurry. Bucky lay there, chest rising and falling in rhythm. His expression was soft. His mouth was almost curled into a smile.

“What do you see?” Dr. Bachman whispered, prodding you forward.

You lifted your shoulders with a dramatic, heart-wrenching sigh, “Peace. He looks peaceful.”

Dr. Bachman let a low chuckle escape through his lips. “That’s right, my dear.” He stepped around you and up to the side of the bed. “Here is the noblest of survivors.” He shook his head and chuckled again. “I wish my old great uncle could see…the best friend – the brother and protector of his soldier.” He glanced back at you, smiling, his eyes glossy. “What a privilege to be a part of his recovery.”

You took a few steps away from him and then sank onto the extra bed that T’Challa had provided. You covered your mouth with fingertips and stared at Bucky. Dr. Bachman tilted his head to the side. He nodded once and walked over to the stack of folders. “I’m going to leave you alone with him. You have some things to work through.” He heaved the stack into his arms and then looked at you. “And one of the first things I’d do, if I were you, is figure out how to forgive yourself and let yourself love without barriers.”

Your hand fell away and you gasped, eyes wide. “_Without_ barriers?” you managed. “But…”

He looked over at Bucky and smiled. “He’s going to need you now more than ever.” He sighed, “I don’t see the point of the two of you holding back anymore, do you? What for?”

“Well, I…I thought…” You swallowed and then licked your lips. “I thought we were crossing the line with…with the kiss and –”

“As I said, he is more than just another case and I am officially calling for a break in the rules.” He shifted the weight of the folders and smiled. “Love each other – how does the song go?” He smirked. “All you need is love…”

With that he started for the door, calling back, “I’m going to make a trip to Berlin – look into some other case files, clear my head – so take your time. We’ll get back to his therapy, when I return.”

You furrowed your brow and stood, ready to call out questions, but he was gone through the door. It lightly clicked shut and yet you still jumped.

You wiped at your cheeks and slowly walked toward Bucky. Doubt shook you to your core. Dr. Bachman had lit the green light right as you were pressing hard on the brakes. _Figures_.

_I do love you, Bucky, but I’ve caused you so much pain_. You touched his face, letting your fingertips graze down his neck to his shoulder and then down his arm. _Did he just shiver?_

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment. He didn’t move, aside from his breathing. You shook your head and went back to smoothing out the bedsheet, as you thought about what Dr. Bachman had said.

Dr. Chapman had been right about Bucky’s healing. The bandage on his neck had been removed already. There was no need for it, since the wound had closed up, not even leaving a scar. He didn’t need a mask or tubes pumping oxygen into his lungs, either. The only thing left was an IV of fluids, to keep him hydrated while he slept.

_He does look peaceful._ In the past, his face would sometimes contort and you knew he was having a wicked nightmare – one he would tell you about later. But you’d been with him, nearly every second, since they’d rolled him into the room to recover and he hadn’t once shifted or groaned.

You’d even battled with Dr. Bachman, tramping from one room to another and back and yet, Bucky remained still, face soft, breathing steady.

_Seems strange that he didn’t stir at all…_

Your heart sped up, as worry stitched its way into you. You placed your hand on his forehead, your thumb gently pulling an eyelid up. _Is he in a coma?_ _Why isn’t he –_

His metal hand shot up, taking hold of your wrist and making you jerk and gasp. But his grasp was gentle and a smile appeared. His eyes opened and he blinked a few times. “[Name],” he whispered, swallowing. “What’re…what’re you doing?”

You pressed your free hand to your heart, as he lowered the one he was holding to his chest. “Bucky, you scared me,” you muttered. You bit your lower lip and smiled. “But you’re awake. How’re you feeling?”

His eyes flitted around the room and he furrowed his brow. “Uh…confused.” He glanced down at his right arm. “Why do I have an IV? And…what am I doing in this room?”

You furrowed your brow, as you gently sat on the side of the bed. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

He smirked and put his hand on your cheek, running his thumb across your lips. “We kissed.” He frowned then, and glanced around. “Why? What happened after –?”

“It’s a _very_ long story,” you began.

He pushed up, taking both of your hands in his. “Did I hurt you? You look exhausted and…” he glanced down, “are those cuts on your arms?” He let go of your hands to touch the tiny marks. “[Name], what did I do?”

You scooted closer to him and looked into his eyes. “You, Bucky Barnes, fought against _all_ of HYDRA, against the Winter Soldier…and you won. You obliterated them, protected me, and reclaimed your mind.”

He blinked at you, mouth open. “What does that mean? All of HYDRA?” He swallowed. “The Winter Soldier? Did I…did someone use the words?” Panic rose in his voice and clouded his features. “And what exactly do you mean I protected you?” He pulled his legs up and then slid them toward the side of the bed, one on each side of you.

You watched his face, as his mind flipped through memories. “Bucky, it’s –”

“The last thing I remember is that you were sitting in my lap…” he looked down and motioned with one hand, “you were…straddling me and…then you…you…” he lifted his gaze, “kissed me.” He licked his lips. “Why don’t I remember anything else?”

You let out a long sigh. “Well, I…I imagine it’s because your mind blocked it out.”

He clenched his jaw, frustration tugging the corners of his mouth down. “Then fill me in.”

“Could I tell you later? I’m kinda reveling in you being awake right now.”

“[Name],” he sighed. “I feel like a giant chunk of my brain has been removed. I’ve…I’ve lost days? Or hours. I’m hoping it’s hours.” You nodded and he sighed with relief. “_Hours_…I need you to fill in the blanks.”

You felt encapsulated by him, his legs draped over the side of the bed, bent at his knees, the IV tube stretching across from his right arm like a string that was holding you in place, and his metal hand resting on your thigh. “Bucky,” you whispered, “you’re going to have to trust me – now’s not the time. I promise that I’ll tell you soon. It’s just…you’re awake and you’re okay.” You hesitantly reached up to his face.

When your fingertips touched his cheek, he closed his eyes and let out a soft breath. “I do trust you,” he murmured. “But can’t you give me a little?” He opened his eyes and raised both eyebrows.

Your heart thumped in your chest and even with the hurt and fear that lingered, the doubt fell away. “There’s something else I’d like to tell you.”

“Something else?” His gaze locked onto yours and you thought you’d never seen his eyes look so blue.

“Mm.” You caressed his cheek with your thumb. “Bucky Barnes,” you murmured. “Oh, Bucky…I love you.” You took a breath. “I love you, and I know that I’m still your therapist and that I’ve caused you a lot of pain with all I’ve put you through –”

He leaned forward and covered your mouth with his, successfully cutting off the rest of your sentence. You shifted, pressing your lips against his, as you slid your hand into his hair.

He pulled back just slightly, his breath warm on your skin and whispered, “I love you, too, by the way.” He smiled against your lips, as your gazes met. You both crumbled into giggles, as he drew you into another kiss.


	21. Chapter 21

When you came up for air, once more, your eyes locked and you rested your hand against his cheek. “I think you should also know that our, uh, our secret is out.” You smirked.

“Our secret?” He furrowed his brow, his metal hand instinctively gliding up and down your back. “Which one?” He chuckled, prompting a laugh from you, too.

“Well, the kiss was on camera – but I was talking about this…” You motioned between the two of you. “That we love each other. Dr. B. knows.”

Bucky nodded once, pursing his lips. “He’s a smart guy. We weren’t the best at hiding it.” He shifted, turning to press the button. He waited until the head of the mattress was up where he wanted, and then he leaned against the pillows and tugged you over against him. He circled you with his arms and sighed, “So what did Dr. B. say about it?”

You traced the lines in his metal arm, starting at his wrist and moving up. “Well, he said we don’t have to try and stifle our feelings anymore. He said that maybe being free to love each other is the best medicine.”

He watched, as you continued your trek up his arm. “It’s amazing that I can feel you do that – your touch is so delicate…but I can feel every line.”

You stopped and rested your hand on his arm, a smile curling your lips. “I forget that you can, sometimes.” You lifted your gaze and sighed, “But I’m glad.” You searched his face, wrinkling your brow. “What do you think?”

His face softened. “About what Dr. B. said?” You nodded and he tightened his hold around you, interlocking his fingers together at your hips. “I think he’s right and I sure as hell know I’m tired of waiting and hiding it.”

You gave a soft laugh and chewed on your lower lip before whispering, “Same.”

He hesitated for just a moment and then slowly leaned forward, his eyes fluttering closed. You watched him, until his head tilted and his lips pressed against yours before your eyes fell shut.

His kisses were soft and he would move a little with each one, like to the corner of your mouth or just your top lip. He was experimenting, taking his time.

You wondered how long it’d been since he’d kissed someone. You imagined decades with only beatings and torture and coldness. It was hard to get your mind around, that he hadn’t felt a gentle touch in a long time and that maybe, until he met you, he hadn’t even known what it felt like – since the memory of his old life was charred and disfigured.

You had to draw in a breath to keep from tearing up, as you moved to face him directly, sitting on your knees. You placed your hands on each side of his face and he opened his eyes, surprised to find tears cresting on yours. “You okay?” he whispered.

You nodded, your thumbs stroking his cheeks. You then slid your hands down, your fingers caressing his skin along his neck to his shoulders and down his arms. He watched your face for a moment and was just beginning to close his eyes, when your hand touched the IV.

He sucked in air and grimaced at it. “I need that taken out.”

You smiled and nodded. “I think it should be fine. Use your nurse call button.” He did and it wasn’t long until the nurse arrived, removed the IV, and carried the supplies out, leaving Bucky with a band-aid over the small spot that was left.

You touched the bandage with your thumb. “Better?”

“Mm,” he grunted, leaning against his pillows. He closed his eyes and sighed, “Could you keep doing what you were doing before?”

You sat back and looked at him. “Would it be weird, if –” you began, clamping your mouth shut before muttering, “Never mind.”

He opened his eyes. “What?”

You ran your fingers along the bottom of his t-shirt and lifted your eyebrows to him. “Touch therapy is more effective…”

Without another word, he sat up and you helped him out of the shirt. You folded it and placed it behind you. He chuckled and you turned red. “Like what you see?” he teased.

You bit your lower lip. “Hell yeah, I do.” Your eyes danced and you laughed with him.

He leaned against the pillows again and sighed, “All right…back to the, uh, touch therapy, then.”

You obliged, shifting closer. You began at his face, above his brow and down over his eyelids and nose and then his lips. You let out a shuddered sigh and a small smirk formed on his lips. You rolled your eyes but then straightened up and focused on the task at hand.

You caressed his cheeks next before sliding your hands over his jawline and down his neck to his shoulders. Without pausing at the scars along his left shoulder, you ran your fingertips down his arms to his hands.

You then turned your hands, so that your palms were facing you and you ran your fingernails up his chest. His reaction was exactly what you hoped for – a gasp and a soothing sigh. When you reached his shoulders, you turned your hands back, so that you could caress along his collarbone and then back down his chest.

The curves of his muscles fascinated you. He was perfect, oddly so – _unfairly _so. You outlined them, tilting your head, as you let your fingers roll over the six pack.

When you pulled your hands away and started at his brow again, he sighed. When your fingers ran over his lips, his hands moved to your waist. As your thumbs caressed his cheeks, he opened his eyes and drew you to him.

You didn’t hesitate, even when the thought of teasing him touched your mind. Maybe on another day, at another time.

But this was something different – deeper than lust and teasing. As you both shifted, altering your positions until you were straddling his lap, all you could think about was how much you loved this man, and you knew that _he_ was the person you’d been waiting for your entire life.

When you pulled away from the kiss and rested your forehead against his, you were breathless. You kept your eyes closed, your hands in his hair, and a smile on your face. “I love you, Bucky.”

His hands were on your back at your shoulders, fingers splayed. He was breathing heavily and then his hands curled and he moved you until your head rested against his shoulder. He brushed your hair from your face and held you. “I love you, too,” he whispered.

Silence covered you, as you listened to each other breathe and felt heartbeats begin to slow. He rolled his lips and let out a soft laugh. “I’ve never been in love before,” he said.

“Me, either,” you returned, “but I like it.”

He chuckled and kissed your hair. “Same.” Another minute of silence and he added, “I’m suddenly very aware that I’m shirtless.”

You let out a long sigh and ran your fingers across his chest. “Same.”

He laughed then and moved forward. Holding you against him, he reached out and snatched up his shirt. You pouted but helped him back into it. When he tugged it down, he smiled at you. “Thanks for that before. It was…therapeutic.”

“Oh, Bucky,” you groaned, smirking. “You’re incorrigible.”

He pulled you to him for another kiss and whispered, “I know and you’re stuck with me.”

“Mmm,” you sighed. “That's good.”

He turned a bit, drawing your gaze to him. “I’m glad you think so.” He frowned. “I’m scared, though.”

You sat back and furrowed your brow. “Of?”

His eyes were so open, as if questions were filling his brain to the brim and spilling out of the gray-blue. “Of what I did – to you.”

Your shoulders slumped and you frowned. “Oh, Bucky, I don’t know where to start…”

He lifted his hand and ran his thumb across your pouting bottom lip. “How about from the kiss?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know what happened, not really.” His expression darkened. “It all happened so fast, but I…I think you should know that…there was another device.” You stared at the spot behind his ear and reached out to touch it. “Right here.”

“Another device?” His voice was small, far away. “How? What…what did it do?”

You let out a long breath and chewed on your bottom lip for a moment, trying to piece together the words. He held you there, his hands just below your waist. You were still straddling his lap and frankly, your legs were numb from it. You wanted to stay close to him, but if you didn’t move right then you might not be able to later.

You turned a bit and straightened your right leg out. You slid off his lap in the process, sitting on the bed next to his leg. You twisted, straightening out the other leg and found yourself positioned both awkwardly and much too far away from him.

He lifted his eyebrow and despite the seriousness of the conversation, his eyes danced. “You okay?”

“Ow! Ow! Ow!” you groaned, as needles prickled in your lower legs. He reached out and began rubbing them, as you wiggled your toes. You looked at him and then glanced at the door. “Why don’t we go to my apartment. I’ll make some coffee and…I’ll tell you everything.”

“Sounds good to me.” He helped you balance and climb off the bed before following suit. You both tugged on your shoes and he let you lead the way.

When you entered your apartment and turned on the light, he looked around and nodded, seemingly impressed. You dropped your keys on a table and immediately kicked your shoes back off. “You’ve never been in here before, huh?”

“No – first time. It’s nice.”

“Would it be incredibly cheesy to say it looks better with you here in it?” you asked, sticking your tongue out to the side.

He laughed and then shook his head before stepping up to you and curling his arm around your waist. “Terribly cheesy but I’ll take it – and maybe now, I can spend more time here.”

You lifted an eyebrow. “Why, my goodness, Barnes…was that an attempt at a _line_?”

He kissed you and smiled against your lips before whispering, “Just wishful thinking…”

“Wish granted,” you returned. “Now, help me make some coffee and we can…talk.”

\---

By the end of your re-telling, Bucky was leaning forward, elbows on knees, hands in his hair. He felt overwhelmed, trying to absorb that there’d been a device working against his therapy and it had nearly done its job.

Despite hearing it all, his own memory of the events remained hidden somewhere in the shadows of his subconscious. He dropped his hands and looked at you and for the tenth time, he whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

You took a deep breath and then grasped his hand. “Bucky, you have nothing to apologize for. I’m so proud of you. Don’t you realize? You went up against that device. Your human mind and heart, fighting against technology that was meant to destroy you – and you won. You did it.”

“We did it,” he said, curling his fingers with yours. “I would never have been able to fight off what that device was doing to me, if it weren’t for you…and the lullaby you created.”

Tears pooled and then dripped on your cheeks. “_We_ created it.” You let out a small laugh and wiped at your cheeks. “We make a good team.”

He lifted your hand, kissing the back of it. “[Name]…I…I don’t even know what to…to say. You are more than I ever thought…” he let out a breath, “more than I imagined or hoped…”

You nodded. “I know…I know, Bucky.” You kissed him and he held you there in his arms, no more words needed.

\---

_Three weeks later…_

You walked down the corridor, arms loaded to the brim with files, so high, you had to peer around them just to see where you were going. You reached your office and bumped the door open with your hip.

You nudged the light switch up with your shoulder and grunted, as you dropped the pile onto the desk. When you turned, you gasped, “Steve? What’re you…” you glanced around, “were you sitting here in the dark?”

“Sorry, [Name],” he sighed, “I just needed a quiet place. I thought you were…you and Bucky were going to be spending the day together.”

You took a step around the small table and sat hard next to him on the couch. “We were, but T’Challa and Sam decided they wanted to have a sparring match. I’m surprised they didn’t ask –”

“I don’t think they knew where I was,” he interrupted.

You furrowed your brow. “Steve, what’s wrong?”

He curled his hands into fists and released them. “I can’t shake the nightmares.”

You dropped your head. “I’ve been too busy. Steve, I’m sorry. Our therapy sessions…we haven’t been spending enough time –”

“It’s okay,” he breathed. “This is Bucky’s time anyway. He’s finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. We all are, where he’s concerned.”

You bobbed your head in agreement. “Five words down, five to go.” You turned to face him a bit more. “Was there something about _furnace _that is sticking with you?”

He shook his head. “It’s _daybreak_.” He leaned forward, his hands in his hair. “I can’t shake it.” His voice wavered with tears. “It’s my fault – my fault that he was on that train…my fault that he fell.” He covered his face.

You moved, one arm around his back at his shoulders, your other hand on his leg. “Steve…Steve, Bucky _chose _to be there. If he really felt it was wrong, he –”

“No!” Steve shouted, pushing away from you and off the couch. He stood, facing the landscape painting on the wall, hands on his hips. “He trusted me and I practically handed him over to HYDRA.”

“Is that what you really think?” Bucky’s voice came from the doorway.


	22. Chapter 22

You looked over, finding Bucky, white towel around his neck and hanging down over a black workout shirt and basketball shorts. His hair was still wet around his face, only loosely tugged back in a bun. His arms were folded across his chest and he stood, lips tightened into a straight line, staring at Steve.

Steve merely glanced at his friend before returning his gaze to the artwork. “It’s what I know, Buck. You were trying to talk me out of it and I ignored your warnings.”

“I see. So it _is _what you really think.” Bucky clenched his jaw and then glanced at you. You nodded, then slipped off the couch and into another chair, out of the way. Bucky wiped the towel across his face, rolling his lips. He stepped into the room and muttered, “Sit down, Steve.”

Steve sighed, rolling his eyes, “We’ve talked about all of this enough. It’s _my_ decision to feel this way. It’s the truth and you’re not going to talk me out of believing it.”

“Sit. Down. Steve.” Bucky grimaced, as he turned and sat hard on the couch. He leaned forward, elbows on knees and intertwined his fingers together. And then he waited, without a word – not even a huff. He sat there in complete silence, until Steve, exasperated, turned and trudged over to sit at the opposite end of the couch. Bucky pursed his lips and muttered, “Thanks.”

Steve shrugged and you could tell the two of them were at an impasse. You cleared your throat and coaxed Steve first. “Why don’t you tell Bucky where these feelings are coming from.”

_Ugh_. It was so clear that Steve didn’t want to talk – or actually, that he didn’t want to face the consequences of his words, his _feelings_ on the subject. He knew what Bucky was going to say, had probably heard a speech or two over the last few months from his friend about why he shouldn’t feel guilty. You could see it in his countenance. He set his jaw and stared ahead but his shoulders were sagging and his breathing was ragged. He did _not_ want to be in that room but knew better than to try to leave.

You waited, your head tilted to the side, eyes flitting between the two men. You finally whispered, “Steve, no one is trying to make you feel a certain way, force you into what you’re not ready for – but you were more at peace before. What’s changed?”

Steve licked his lips and swallowed. “Daybreak,” he whispered.

Daybreak. A memory that was brought back to the surface for Bucky just three days ago. He hadn’t remembered it without prompting, without the hypnotherapy. You chewed your bottom lip, as your mind filtered through each session.

You and Dr. Bachman had decided that with the last device gone, you would go back to the easier form of hypnotherapy and see if it was more successful – and it had been. Although probably due to the first word being broken as well, the device being removed had really opened up Bucky’s mind to the deprogramming – and only Bucky was more relieved than you that the lighter form of therapy could be utilized instead.

Of course, it’d still been painful but not as deep nor as difficult to bring him back out, which made a lot of difference.

When you and Dr. Bachman worked on ‘daybreak,’ Bucky spoke softly about the word, as his subconscious released his old war memories…

\---

“Mm,” Bucky sighed. “I think I spent the better part of my life being worried about Steve Rogers. As kids, he was sick a lot and…what a _punk_. He could be stuck in bed for a weeks, wheezing and red-faced, and come to school at the end of it, ready to fight.” He let out a soft laugh. “I was always stepping in, when it went too far and dragging Steve away, bloody nose and all.”

“And then, after you were captured in the war, Steve suddenly appeared, and he was taller, stronger, no longer sick – but you still worried?” you asked.

Bucky’s eyes were already closed but he squeezed them tighter. “He _always_ had something to prove…and with the Red Skull, it was no different. I guess I just wanted him to check his own motives? Make sure that he was in the fight for the right reasons.”

Steve dropped his head and Sam glanced at him, shifting in his chair to see Steve’s face. He was already becoming shrouded in guilt.

“How did you do it?” Dr. B. asked. “How did you make sure his motivations were…on the right track?”

Silence. A minute passed, then two, three, four, five…Bucky’s body tensed up and he sucked air in through his nose, holding it for a moment before letting it seep out of his mouth. “D…day…break.” **Ř** “Daybreak.”

You glanced at Dr. B. upon Bucky’s repeat of the word in Russian and he nodded, a frown tugging at his lips. He switched the leg he had crossed and said, **Ř** “Daybreak. What is the significance, soldier?”

Bucky froze in place. Only his eyes moved back and forth beneath his eyelids. This was always the most difficult part, pushing him into the parts of his memory that HYDRA owned a piece of, too.

He began writhing on the couch, curling his hands into fists, growls bubbling up. He was battling with the memory, but there was some encouragement, when he stopped moving and spoke in English instead of continuing in Russian, “It was our code…code word. We…we met every day at daybreak to…to talk about the plans…and if I…if I thought Steve was in a bad place, I would…I could just say the word and we’d stop to talk about – and now it’s…it’s just proof that he _never_ listened, not really. He never listened to me!”

You grasped the pen in your hand and looked at Steve. He was leaning forward, a hand over his face, muscles flexed, tight.

Bucky thrashed and his eyes opened, wide and raging, like the storm clouds you saw in them on that evening a few weeks back. “I _told _him – there’s something wrong about this mission. We need to find another way to take…Zola.” He swallowed and his eyes slammed shut. “He told me to trust him and everything was taken away from me. I fell. I thought I was dying.” His voice lowered and he whispered, “I wish I had.”

Steve pushed out of the chair, marching around behind you to the door. He stood, hand on the round knob, breathing heavily for a moment before twisting it and yanking the door open. He managed the exit in almost utter silence and you were so shocked by it, you couldn’t move.

Before the door slowly clicked shut, you heard Sharon say, “Steve? Steve…what’s wrong?” Sam looked at you and then made his exit, slipping around you to the door. When he opened it, you could see Steve crouched down, Sharon at his side, her hand making circles on his back. She looked up to Sam and the door shut again.

That’s when you realized that Dr. Bachman had continued with Bucky, talking him through the word. You’d simply zoned out, your mind torn in half.

**Ř** “Daybreak now means trust, Bucky. Steve found you, in Bucharest. He stayed with you, protecting you at all costs. Your daybreak has returned. It belongs to you and your friend. New trust – no fear.”

You glanced down at your notes, reading the words in English that you knew Dr. B. was reciting to Bucky in that moment. When you lifted your gaze, you watched Bucky’s face. It was distorted with confusion and he trembled.

Dr. Bachman repeated the words with a firm tenor, finishing in English, “Steve is your friend. He would never hurt you intentionally. He will never abandon you. He is your friend.”

Bucky’s body quaked, a common occurrence with each word that you and Dr. Bachman were forcibly changing from that damned HYDRA-meaning that lived in his brain for decades. He let out a scream and then lay still, his chest rising and falling. Sweat beaded on his brow and upper lip. Tears trickled from the corners of his eyes. “My friend,” he whispered. “New…new trust.”

“That’s right,” you said. “Daybreak stands for the trust between lifelong friends. It’s a safe word, a good word.”

His hand went to his face, as he softly cried – tears of relief and release. You set your notepad and pen down on the table and moved to his side, getting on your knees…and you waited.

**Ř** “Daybreak.” He licked his lips, repeating it in English, “Daybreak.” He furrowed his brow. “Steve…he used to fight the bullies and not just the ones after him. When I went to school with a busted lip and this kid,” he smiled, “_Jerry_…he pointed and laughed at me and Steve,” he sucked in air, “Steve tried. He landed two punches before Jerry laid into him and I had to yank Jerry away and drag Steve to the other side of the playground.” He let out a laugh, “School hadn’t even started. The sun was barely over the horizon.” He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. “Daybreak.”

You glanced back at Dr. B. who merely smiled and nodded before turning your focus back to Bucky. “The word is yours again,” you whispered. “And now, I want you to listen to my voice – concentrate on each syllable. Close the door to the warehouse, Bucky, and walk away. It’s time to come home.”

Bucky’s eyes fluttered closed and he drew in a deep breath, blowing it out before nodding. “You are home,” he whispered and your breath caught. Even after being open about your feelings for the last three de-programmings, he’d never used that particular set of words before.

“I’m here waiting for you, Bucky. You can leave the past. When I count to three, you will open your eyes and see me…and know,” you swallowed, “that you’re home.” You rolled your lips. “One…two…three.”

He opened his eyes and turned to look at you. A smile curled his lips and he wiped at his face. “I did okay?”

You shifted, pushing up off the floor and then sitting on the edge of the couch. “You did great.” You took his hand. “Another word down.”

He sat up and his gaze immediately landed on the two empty stools behind the couch. “Where’s Steve?”

\---

Bucky clenched his jaw. “Our old code word – that’s what this is about?”

“It’s still fresh, Bucky,” you said.

Bucky shifted, turning to face Steve. “I told you that I had a bad feeling about that train, and you said I needed to trust you.”

“Thanks for the replay,” Steve sighed.

“Do you remember why I said I had a bad feeling about it?”

Steve looked at him, mouth open. “Uh, you said it was it was your gut – that you thought something would go wrong – that taking a zip line and landing on the top of the train was ‘what idiots do.’”

Bucky licked his lips and nodded. “That’s almost it, exactly…word-for-word. You don’t forget anything, do you?”

Steve grimaced. “Not something like that.”

Bucky shook his head, dropping it. “I lied, Steve.” Steve’s eyes grew wide and Bucky looked back at him. “I was scared – that’s all. I told you I had a feeling in my gut that something would go wrong, but the truth? I didn’t want to be within a hundred feet of Zola. Remember my nightmares?”

“Of course, I do. He…did those experiments.”

“Right.” Bucky swallowed. “It wasn’t about my gut or thinking it was a bad mission. I was afraid.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that?”

Bucky lifted his eyebrows. “Tell you – the guy who wasn’t scared of anything, even when he was smaller than everyone else – that I was scared of seeing Zola? That I wanted to sit out a mission because I was a coward?” He scoffed and then lowered his head.

“You weren’t a coward, Buck. You’ve always been the bravest guy I know.” Steve’s voice was thick with emotion.

“I’m sorry, Steve. I should’ve told you a long time ago.” He rolled his lips. “If I had known that you would carry around all this guilt, all these years…” He shook his head.

Steve ran his hands through his hair and let out a breath. “You’re not going to start feeling guilty for not telling me, are you?” He shoved Bucky’s shoulder and they both chuckled.

“We could do this all day.”

“Hey,” Steve mused, “that’s my line.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Don’t.” A smile curled his lips. “So...feel better?”

Steve sighed, rubbing his hands on his thighs. “Well, it’s nice knowing you didn’t think the mission was wrong from the get-go and I just ignored you.”

A minute ticked off the clock. “Steve,” Bucky whispered, “no one is expecting you to just ‘get over it.’ You’ve been through a hell of a lot, too – but stubbornly holding onto guilt, while perfectly fitting with that annoying part of your personality,” Steve scoffed, smirking and Bucky continued, “it’s fruitless. Nothing either of us do is going to change the past.” He stood and stuck his hand out to Steve. “It’s about time we started looking to the future, don’t you think?”

Steve looked up at his friend and the took his hand to shake it. Bucky shook his head and smiled. “Oh, hell no…that’s not gonna cover it.” With that, he tugged Steve off the couch and the men embraced. You sat, hands clasped at your lips and tears filling your eyes, as they loudly patted each other on the back.

When they stepped out of the hug, you slapped both armrests and pushed up. “I…am a damned good psychologist.” You smirked and then laughed, as they turned to you. Bucky shook his head and Steve pressed his fingers against his eyes, wiping them.

Bucky slapped Steve’s shoulder and crossed the space to you, slipping his arms around your waist. He kissed your forehead and whispered, “Yeah…you sure as hell are…”

You cupped his face and kissed him before looking past him to Steve. “Now, daybreak belongs to both of you – just as it was meant to be.”

Steve nodded, hands on his hips. He sucked in a breath and let it out with a whoosh. “Thanks,” he glanced at you and Bucky, “to both of you. I can’t say I’m totally in the clear, but things are looking up.”

He stepped over and you gave him a side-hug, all the while circling your other arm around Bucky’s waist. “You soldiers…you test the best of us, but I know we will get there. It’s not a race, though. You’ve both gotta give your minds the opportunity to heal. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve responded right away.

You grinned at him and then lifted an eyebrow to Bucky. “Hello?”

Bucky glanced down to your hand resting at Steve’s hip. “I’m waiting for you to stop _hugging _him,” he sighed, doing his damnest to hide a smirk.

You laughed then. “You are the biggest pest I know, Bucky Barnes.”

Bucky sighed, a smile still tugging at his lips. “Yes, ma’am.” 


	23. Chapter 23

A Steve Rogers chapter (mostly)

_Two weeks later…_

Sun peeked through the blinds, brightening up your office, but you hardly noticed. You were busy scribbling down notes and loathing the recent revelation that you needed a pair of reading glasses perched on the end of your nose to help out your tired eyes.

You looked over top of them to Steve, who sat on the couch, elbows on knees and hands clasped. You tilted your head and furrowed your brow, saying, “So let’s move on. Tell me about these nightmares you’ve been having lately.”

Steve pursed his lips and sat back, bouncing one knee. “They’re the same ones I’ve had before, for the most part.” He sighed, “I thought clearing the air with Bucky a couple of weeks ago would’ve gotten rid of them.”

You jotted down a few words and straightened your back. You were bone tired – that kind of exhaustion that filled you from head to foot, and all you wanted to do was lie down and close your eyes for hours and hours. You twisted your back and a round of quiet pops rolled up your spine. You opened your eyes wide and let out a soft breath. “You’re still dealing with residual guilt, Steve. Why don’t we work through your nightmares, a piece at a time. What is the most common one?”

“It’s one that starts out with Bucky caught in a cell. There’s HYDRA emblems all over the place. It looks nothing like that base in Siberia, where we found the other winter soldiers. It’s a place I’ve never been to.” He pressed his hands up into his hair. “It’s like my mind has _created_ it.”

You nodded. “That’s exactly it. The guilt you hold on to has created a place that doesn’t exist. Tell me what Bucky looks like. Long hair? Short hair? How is he dressed?”

Steve finally gave in to your earlier request for him to lie down, settling himself against the pillowed armrest. He let out a sigh and closed his eyes. “He looks like he does now, with long hair and scruff but he’s in his old uniform. It’s worn, tattered, dirty.”

You wrote down the description and asked, “So your mind has taken the Bucky you know now and set him back in time – not only that, but in your head, he’s been in that cell for quite some time. What happens, when you find him?”

“I can’t get him out. There’s no keys and the bars – I can’t bend them, break them.” His breathing increased as he continued, “And then the cell shifts and begins to sink, the entire thing, into…into water. It’s swallowing him up and he’s screaming for me to help him – that it’s so cold and I can’t…there’s nothing I can do!”

You sat on the edge of your chair, listening to him describe the dream. When his voice fades, you set your notepad and pen on the table, tossing your glasses on top of them, and cover your mouth, your eyes wide. “Steve, that’s the most common dream? Why have you never told me about it before?”

He frowned, whispering, “You ever think that if you say something out loud, it’ll come true?”

You could see his throat bob as he swallowed. His voice was thick with grief and you dropped your head. We should’ve been spending more time together. You licked your lips and looked at him. “Steve, you have lived beneath the umbrella of Captain America for so long that you’ve forgotten just how human you are.” You scooted forward a bit more, barely perched on the chair. “Everyone has a nightmare that they’re too…afraid of…afraid that in some way, it’ll turn from nightmare into premonition – and by the time they realize it, it’s too late.” You paused for a moment, choosing your words carefully, “I could sit here and tell you that…that no one is going to lock Bucky in a cell ever again. I could try to explain that there’s probably not a lot of cells that sink into water – but, instead, we’re going to break that nightmare down to its bare bones. That way, you don’t have to hear me tell you all of that. You are going to know it, in your own mind – just like we freed Bucky from his programmed words, we are going to break you from your demons.”

Steve adjusted his position on the couch, curling his hands into fists and releasing them. “Oh…okay.”

The next hour was spent in extreme therapy. _Bucky being locked away, unable to be rescued, comes from a deep-seated fear of being separated from the only piece of your past that you have left – that’s why you see him as he looks now but dressed in his old uniform. The uniform is worn and dirty because you were apart for decades. Water in dreams, especially when it’s seen as a means of drowning, is often associated with feeling overwhelmed by circumstances. You are overwhelmed, Steve. You see Bucky drowning in your nightmare, but you are the one drowning. The nightmares are stealing your life now. Walking around with guilt weighing down on you is taking away the joy you have in knowing your friend is safe and free._

\---

By the time you were finished, Steve was crying and you were worn to the bone. He thanked you, though, feeling a little lighter than he had, when he’d arrived that morning. You were pleased to see Sharon waiting for him, as he exited the office.

When Dr. Bachman stepped through the door just minutes later, you gave him a pitiful look.

“How’s he doing?” he asked, watching as you scribbled the last of your notes.

You folded the paper back in place and handed him your notes. “He needs more therapy sessions, once a day, I think.”

Dr. Bachman lifted his eyebrows, as he glanced through the notepad. “Aren’t you wearing yourself a bit thin, my dear? You’re already joining me for Bucky’s daily therapy sessions, as well as your meetings with Sam about his methods of working with those suffering from PTSD.”

You lifted a finger. “Don’t forget my training with Natasha and T’Challa – basic self-defense moves. Those are on the days, when Sam and I don’t meet, though, so it’s not too ba –”

“[Name],” Dr. B. whispered. “Something’s got to give. You cannot -”

“I know,” you sighed. You leaned forward, elbows on knees and covered your face. “I’m not sleeping. If I could just get a full night…”

“You need a week of nothing but rest.”

You chuckled. “Sure.” You looked at him and shrugged. “We’ve been here before – worn out. I just need my second wind. I…I’ll be in the therapy sessions with Bucky, but I’ll…just not contribute as much – more of a silent partner.”

Dr. B. chuckled then. “Sure.” He glanced at his watch. “We’ll move Bucky’s therapy to this afternoon, four o’clock. You…go sleep. It’s not a request.”

You sat back in your chair and sighed, “Normally, I’d argue with you, but…” you pushed yourself up and stretched, “I think I’ll take the deal.” You let him keep the notes, knowing he’d want to read through them more fully and stepped past him. As you reached the door, you envisioned your bed, all comfy and inviting, and could think of no better aim than crawling into it.

You tugged the door open and stepped into the corridor, making your way to your living quarters. You rounded the corner and stopped. Bucky was leaning against the wall next to your apartment door, one foot up, pressed against the bright, white paint. He saw you and smiled. “Thought you might head this way after therapy with Steve.”

You smiled in return and met him halfway. His embrace felt good…warm, soothing. “What’s up?” you whispered. “Everything okay?”

He pulled back, giving you a kiss. “Just thought we could have an early lunch and spend some time together…aside from therapy sessions and training.”

The image of your soft bed disappeared with a *poof* and you nodded. “Sure. Let me just…change clothes.”

_Two weeks later…_

You sat in your dimly-lit room, rubbing your eyes, as you tried to make out the words on your notepad, long since tossing the reading glasses away. You’d kept smudging them, every time your head bobbed. You turned your watch around on your wrist to peer at it. _Almost four already_. _No wonder I’m shattered_.

You leaned forward, resting your forehead on your notes and sighed. Bucky’s deprogramming was technically complete – all of the words removed, but there was still the post-therapy to deal with, plus Steve’s own back-and-forth battle.

To top it all, the world was being throttled by madness just three days past. It sent all of the capable secret team members of the Avengers scattered out from one corner to the other, including members you’d barely met: Clint, Scott, and Wanda were each sent out on missions that you hadn’t been filled in on.

Sharon was in Barcelona, undercover and dealing with an uprising in attacks on anti-Nazi protestors that were taking place across the globe. The attacks were led by a group of angry, _stupid_ young men who wore swastikas on their arms and carried hate in their hearts. Freshly lit by a new wave of fury, they hunted down anyone who spoke out against them, and especially against anyone rallying under the name of Captain America – and for reasons no one understood, they’d established their base in Spain.

Natasha was to join her in a week, but first found herself back in New York. She had her own spy work to do, infiltrating a government organization…and that was as much information she had been willing to give for the time being.

Sam found himself smack dab in the middle of Cordoba, Argentina, speaking rough Spanish, as he sought out information about a possible, deeply-underground HYDRA base that was chortling out an all-too-familiar propaganda of peace without freedom. People were joining up in droves, fearful of the changing of the guard in their distant neighbor to the north. Sam’s job was to infiltrate, under disguise, and dismantle from within.

And damn if Steve wasn’t angry about not going with him to do it. It’d led to shouting matches between the two men that not even Bucky or T’Challa could command an end to. And T’Challa had his own issues to deal with – challenges to his leadership from enemies within his own country. He was gone with barely a word, putting out fires by any means necessary.

Then there was Dr. Bachman – _back in Berlin!_ Just two days after Bucky’s final word was removed, he was called by a “long-time friend” for help and you’d barely heard a peep from him since. Time gone was closing in on a week, which, under normal circumstances, wouldn’t be more than a blip – but left you worried, more than you could express.

So you were left there with two soldiers, both wanting to join the fray but ill-equipped to do so. Bucky was less adamant, willing to listen, when you listed the reasons why he wasn’t near ready to start fighting again – willing to focus on mending his mind. Plus, the amount of time the two of you were able to spend together, made things easier for him.

Steve, on the other hand, was stubborn and angry and still dealing with the ups and downs of PTSD. Less than 24 hours before, you’d had an argument with him you wouldn’t soon forget.

\---

“You can’t make me stay here, [Name]!” he shouted.

You gaped. “The hell I can’t! Don’t test me, Rogers!”

He pointed toward an exit door, his jaw clenched. “I need to be _out_ _there_…fighting!”

You narrowed your eyes at him and stepped forward. “You’re not ready. Your nightmares haven’t been roped in and you’re showing signs of depression…”

He scoffed and walked away from you. “Would you shut up already? I’m tired of hearing it.”

“I am your therapist. It’s my damn job _not_ to ‘shut up.’”

He spun to face you, anger flashing in his eyes. “You’re fired, then. How’s that? I don’t need you and your ridiculous therapy. It’s a waste of time.”

“Says the soldier who can’t sleep through the night without waking with a scream tearing through his throat.” You stepped closer. “The _human_ _being_ who can barely glance at his own reflection in a mirror.” You folded your arms. “We make progress and then you hide away in your room, making excuses – taking one step forward and two back, especially now that Sharon’s not here to encourage you.” You frowned. “And I’m sorry she had to go, Steve, but –”

“I don’t have to stand here and listen to this,” he interrupted, bitterness lacing his words. “I’m leaving.”

You stepped to the side, blocking his path and lifted your eyebrows.

“Damn it, [Name]. _Move_.”

“No,” you said. He shifted again and you followed. “You have got to stop closing up and talk to me.”

He leaned forward, his face twisted in anger and seethed, “Talk to you? All right, fine. I do not need you here. I don’t _want_ you here. You’ve done nothing but drudge up worthless, painful pieces of the past.” He narrowed his eyes and continued, “Bucky may be free from the words, but there’s no doubt in my mind someone else could’ve done it _cleaner_. He would be better off without you.”

During Steve’s tirade, you’d ran words through your head. _I’m a professional. This is part of the job. I’ve heard worse, seen worse. He’s suffering._ But at the last sentence, you crumbled. Tears stung at your eyes and nose and your bottom lip trembled. You tried, “You…you don’t mean that. You’re angry.”

And something like regret or hurt slipped past his eyes before he reached out and placed his hands on your upper arms. He gently moved you out of the way and muttered, “I’m going back to my apartment.” He stopped at the edge of the living space and finished with, “_Don’t _check on me,” before disappearing into the corridor.

Your entire body was shaking, as tears slid down your cheeks and you sank to the tiled floor, pressing your back against the side of a loveseat. Steve was one of the sweetest, most thoughtful people you’d ever met – and somewhere in all of that anger, you knew he was pushing it down. Your heart ached, not so much at his words – you knew he didn’t mean them – but at their consequences, yet another reason for him to feel guilt and regret down the line.

You pressed your fingers against your temples. You wanted to help him…and Bucky, but you were, quite literally, left all alone. What on earth could’ve been a strong enough tug to pull Dr. B. away at such an important time? And with Sharon and Sam and Natasha and T’Challa all gone, you were left utterly without a support system. It was too much and you were worried you would break in two.

\---

Thinking about it, whilst sitting at your desk, surrounded by files and papers and scratches of notes left you weak-willed. Bucky had been fast asleep during the argument you had with Steve. He had no idea just how on edge you were, although Steve was entirely transparent.

More than once, Bucky had tried to step in and say something, do something, but you’d carefully guided him away from that pressure. He needed to focus on himself and besides, Steve wasn’t ready to listen to anyone – it would only cause a rift. You shook your head. _That’s the last thing Bucky needs right now._

As if on cue, there was a light tap on the door and Bucky’s voice filtered through, “[Name]? I can see a light on. You awake?”

You sighed and shoved away from your desk, turning with a shuffling step toward the door. “Yeah…working,” you returned. Reaching for the knob, you opened the door and found Bucky looking like death warmed up. You snapped out of your haze and drew him inside. “What’s wrong?” 


	24. Chapter 24

Bucky’s mouth twisted and he muttered, “Nightmare…new one.”

You tugged him over to the couch, seating him before sitting next to him, hand on his knee. “Tell me about it.” As he worked to form the words, you took in his appearance with a bit more scrutiny. He was wearing gray sweatpants, a dark blue Henley, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and tennis shoes, barely tied. His brow was still dotted with beads of sweat. His hair hung about his face with part of it tugged into what was left of a small bun at the nape of his neck. What stood out most, though, were the dark circles beneath eyes that were void of any flecks of blue. _Whatever the nightmare, it was a bad one._

He looked just past you at the wall and slowly began weaving the dream back together. It was pulled from his subconscious, the events that surrounded the placement of the word furnace. It had not, as it turned out, had anything to do with Bucky’s early to late teens and working on repairs to machinery, like furnaces.

During his training to become the Winter Soldier, he’d been transported to one of the many concentration camps still littering Germany – _Ravensbrück _– the largest and most notorious camp for women. By the time he was taken there, the camp had long been liberated, but death hung loosely in the air. Rumors flittered about that if you were quiet enough, you could still hear the screams of the women being beaten and tortured and killed.

Bucky had been shoved about, _touring_the place, told stories about the treatment there, as if they were victories. He was still cognizant of his old self, his old nature, but he also stood on the fence to becoming fully brainwashed, fully compliant…

\---

He shuddered, as they led him through the gas chamber to the crematorium, glorifying their comrades. Ha – _comrades_. Red Skull had grown to hate Hitler and his pitiful followers and yet here they were praising their efforts, regaling the stories that came from this place.

**Ř** “Hundreds of thousands of women came through here,” muttered Fenhoff, “and by the liberation, only 15,000 had survived it.” He chuckled. “You will learn of their pain, Soldier.” He pointed at the furnace and grimaced. “And you will feel the hatred it took to put them in the box to burn.” He took hold of Bucky’s arm and growled. “_Furnace_…remember it!”

The other words already burned his mind, seared his memories, blackened them in horror. How much more could he take?

\---

“You slid your arm around his back at his shoulders. “You dreamed of that place.” He reached for his throat and you frowned. “The dust that choked you.”

He shook his head, lowering it. “No,” he coughed, “it was more than that. It was so…real…alive.” He looked up, searching your face. “You were there.”

Your eyes grew wide. “Me?” You held up a finger and raced over to your desk to retrieve a notepad and pen. You scribbled the date and a brief description at the top, as you walked back over. “Tell me everything.”

He rolled his lips, staring at the notepad in your hand. “Do we have to…treat this like some kind of therapy session?”

“When we’re discussing your nightmares? Yes.”

He sighed and pressed his finger and thumb to his eyes. “Can’t this just be me…coming to talk to my girl – my friend? You don’t have to wear the therapist hat all the time, [Name].”

That was it. You were raw from everything that had happened, even just over the past couple of days, and his exasperation at you doing your job was the final breaking point. You felt it in your chest first, a twinge of pain that grew, pressed against you and then the stinging in your eyes, nose…your bottom lip trembling. _I’m a professional. I’m a professional__._ You curled your fingers around the pen, griping it so tightly, your knuckles went white. You began to shake and giant tears dripped on your cheeks.

You licked your lips, trying to find moisture, and swallowed. Your voice came out in a croak, “I…I want to help you, but until your therapy is…” you cleared your throat, “complete…I am your…your therapist.” Your throat burned, like you’d devoured sandpaper.

Bucky dropped his hand and looked at you, mouth open, and it was as if he was finally seeing you – your condition – your _state_, both physically and mentally. Tears streaked your cheeks. Almost black half-circles colored your skin beneath your eyes. Your hair was in a bun but it was a wreck. The rest of your skin was sallow. Your fingernails were chipped and your shoulders sagged. He touched your face and whispered, “For Pete's sake, [Name], you look like death.”

You pulled away from his hand and muttered, “Thanks.” You frowned and gave him a once over. “We match then.” You reached out for a stale tumbler of scotch and downed it, hissing at the burn. You pressed the button at the top of your pen a few times and growled, “Back to the nightmare.”

He shook his head and grasped the notepad, wrenching it from your grip and setting it on the table. “I’ve been a hundred percent blind.” He stood, hands on his hips and announced, “I’m making you a bath and,” he glanced down at the power bar wrappers scattered on the table, “something real to eat.”

You sighed, covering your face. “Bucky, don’t be ridiculous. You woke up with a nightmare that _I_ was in…about Ravensbrück. We’re not going to stop because you think I look a little tired. This isn’t about me.”

“A little tired?” he huffed. “[Name], I’m taking care of you right now, whether you want me to or not.”

“Excuse me?” you seethed, glaring at him. “I’m your therapist, not the other way around. Now, sit your behind on this couch and tell me about your nightmare.”

You reached for the notepad but he stopped you, cupping your chin, his face so close, you could feel his breath. “I love you and I can tell you about the nightmare later. Right now, I’m going to spoil _you_for once.”

Color filled his eyes, like a blue sky peering through soft gray clouds and he smirked. When you folded your arms across your chest and opened your mouth to speak, he shifted, leaning into you and hoisting you up onto his left shoulder, stealing your breath in the process.

He spun and started for the bathroom, and you found your words. “Bucky Barnes! Put me down this instant!”

“Nope,” he returned.

You kicked your legs, finding them firmly griped by his vibranium arm. Your hands, fingers splayed, spread over his back, strong and powerful. There would be no escaping. “I can walk! I’m not helpless.”

“Oh, you’re definitely not helpless,” he said, maneuvering through the bedroom door and into the sizable bathroom. “But you’re stubborn.”

“Damn it, Bucky. You’re treating me like a petulant child.”

He lowered you slowly to the floor, holding you in his arms the entire way. “No, I’m treating you like a stubborn, over-worked, brilliant psychologist who doesn’t know when to give herself a break.” He pressed his lips to your forehead and whispered, “Let me take care of you…please?”

You sagged in his arms, letting the stress pour out in tears. The truth was, you couldn’t fight him, even if you wanted to – and you didn’t want to. “Okay,” you finally sighed.

His cool metal hand touched your cheek, wiping at your tears, as he pulled back to look at you. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner. We’re wearing you thin, Steve and I?” He tipped your chin and kissed you before you could answer. “Give me a few minutes to get this bath going.” He turned and pointed at a chair by the small vanity. “Sit and relax.”

_How do I do that?_ You groaned and stepped to the chair, sinking down into it, and he immediately started to work. His movements were quick and precise and you wondered what happened to the man who showed up at your door just minutes before, worn and broken. _He likes having a job to do, something to focus on._

Steam began to rise off the water and he added bath salts and bubbles. He lit candles and set them on ledges around the tub, making you furrow your brows. “How did you…know to do…” he turned to look at you, as you finished, “to do that?”

He smirked. “Sharon. I asked her what her favorite things were that Steve did for her,” he shrugged, “and she detailed how to make the perfect bath.”

_Steve…ugh. I need to check on Steve._

Bucky pulled a face, as your demeanor changed. “What’s the matter?”

“Uh, nothing. Just tired.”

He nodded and stepped over, taking your hand. “It’s close enough to ready, I think.”

You glanced down and nodded. “It looks lovely.” You gave him a trembling smile. “Thank you. I love you, too.”

He grinned, although worry flashed in his eyes. He kissed you again and murmured, “You get in, soak as long as you’d like. I’ll go fix us something to eat.” With that, he slipped past you, pulling the door closed with a click.

You let out a long breath and gazed at the glorious, bubble-filled tub. Undressing, you climbed in, succumbing to the comfort of heat and fragrance. You’d caught a glimpse of your face and hair, when Bucky had set you down before and a bit of horror ran through you. Your first mission was taking your hair down and sliding beneath the suds. When you came back up, you sucked in air and closed your eyes, running your hands over your hair. There’d be tangles to wrestle with, but the water helped. Your aches softened, as you let your body relax. You touched your lips and smiled, thinking about his kiss.

The room was quiet, aside from the soft clicks of bath bubbles popping. _He loves me._ It wasn’t just words or even a feeling. He showed it. He thought he’d been blind, but the truth was that you’d hidden just how thoroughly tired you were from him. It was only when he caught you at the edge that you couldn’t hide anymore. And he’d responded so selflessly.

You drifted into recent memories of your time spent together…

How could someone who’d been through hell a thousand times over, who’d lost himself to a wicked organization, be so kind and generous, thoughtful and loving?

The reality of James Buchanan Barnes was that he was good. Deep down, past the scars that HYDRA left, Bucky was a good man, and there was nothing you wouldn’t do for him.

You opened your eyes, sucking in air through your nose and sat up a bit. The bubbles were dissipating and all you could think about was getting out of that tub and finding Bucky.

After climbing out, blowing out the candles, and draining the tub, you ran a comb through your hair, working out the tangles and towel-drying it. You then dressed in soft pajamas and a robe and swung open your bedroom door.

Bacon and eggs and toast. You could smell it all and your stomach rumbled. You stepped around into the kitchen, finding him busy at the stove, an apron tied at his waist.

His hair was back in a clean bun and with a slight view of his profile, you could see he’d shaved and washed up. You shook your head, amazed.

“Hey,” you said, hugging yourself.

He turned and dumped the eggs onto a plate and smiled at you. “Hey, there. I was just about to come check on you.” He reached back and lowered the heat beneath the crackling bacon. “How do you feel?”

You stepped over to him and slipped your arms around his waist. “A hundred percent better. Thank you.” You glanced at the stove. “Smells amazing,” you whispered. “You’re too good to me.”

He kissed you and smiled. “You can expect more of this.”

You hugged him tight and let out a long breath. “Can’t wait.”

_\---_

Once breakfast was complete and dishes cleaned – you’d insisted on doing your part – you sat together on the couch. He’d dodged questions about the nightmare, but with everything done, he knew he couldn’t put it off anymore.

You leaned against his shoulder, his arm behind you, and just let him talk. Foregoing the notepad and pen wasn’t easy for you, but he was ready and you didn’t want to stifle or interrupt him. You’d just have to commit as much to memory as you could.

From what he could remember, the nightmare started with him at the camp, but he was alone. He also felt pulled by a mission, by his other side – the Winter Soldier. He was driven with a purpose.

And as he stepped into a room, a blast of heat met him there. _Finish it._ The words rushed through him again and again. He lifted his gaze, finding you, bound and gagged, a note pinned to the rags you wore. You didn’t move or cry out. Your eyes were closed, almost as if you were sleeping peacefully. Covered in dust, you appeared ghostlike, and he approached you, reading the three words on the note:

_Into the furnace._

He licked his lips and looked at the flames, flickering behind a small cutout in a heavy, hinged concrete door, only about three feet wide by three feet tall. The heat in the room made him sweat and he reached out to you, ready to lift you over and onto a rack. He’d then just have to unlatch the door and roll you into the fire.

It was when he touched you that his mind betrayed. He heard you laughing, felt your fingers in his hair. Your voice was alive and in his head, calling his name. He was holding you, hands on your hips, as you were perched on his lap on a blanket in the grass. Your hair fell around him, as you leaned in for a kiss. _I love you, Bucky__._

He released you and groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and backing away. _Finish it._ He opened his eyes and he grasped hold of you, lifting your thin, bony frame off the table. One turn and you were on the rack. _Open the door and slide her in. Finish it._

Just then, you sucked in a breath and opened your eyes. You tried calling to him, your voice muffled by the gag. Your words were choked back with tears and dust, as you attempted his name.

Torn in half. He was two men – Bucky Barnes and the Winter Soldier – one bound by honor and love, the other bound by words and mission.

He couldn’t do it.  
  
_Finish it._

_No! I love her._

_Finish it._

His body moved of its own volition, releasing the latch and letting the heavy door fall. Flames shot out in long fingers, the heat nearly unbearable.

_No! Stop! It’s [Name]! You can’t!_

His body turned, hands darting out to your arm. He looked at you. Tears slid into your hair, making trails in the dust. You nodded once and it was like he could hear you_. __It’s okay, Bucky. You can’t help it._

He clenched his jaw and pushed against the rack. It was stuck, old and rusted from lack of use.

_You don’t have to do this!_ His mind screamed at him. _It’s broken. Save her._

_Finish it._

His right arm fell to his side, as his left hand gripped the rack. He shoved again and a shriek of horror and pain from you coursed through him.

He covered his face and sighed, “And that’s when I woke up, covered in sweat and shaking uncontrollably.” 


	25. Chapter 25

You looked straight ahead, blinking. Every word of his nightmare played like a recording, thumping in your head. You rolled your lips and licked them, trying to form words that hid from you. He dreamed that he killed you and not by gunshot, the Winter Soldier’s most common method, but by something entirely cruel and intensely painful – a method evil men and women used in an attempt to obliterate an entire race. You were stunned.

Bucky sat up a bit to look at your face and then leaned toward the table, retrieving the notepad and pen. He laid them in your lap and you tilted your head to stare at him. The pained look on his face made you ache.

_Say something!_ You clasped the notepad, the pen rolling off to the side. You looked down, cleared your throat, and picked up the pen, clicking it a few times. You jotted down, _nightmare, furnace, _and then drew your gaze to him. “I’m so sorry that you had such a horrific nightmare and…and came here for help, only having to take care of _me_ instead.”

He rested his hand on your knee and shifted a bit to face you more directly. “Don’t apologize, please.” He shook his head. “I just…I don’t understand it. Why would I dream about something that never happened? I don’t just mean you being there, but the furnace being lit. It was never lit, when I was there.”

You licked your lips again and set the notepad and pen down. You met his posture, facing him and covered his hands with your own. “Our subconscious creates scenarios all the time. It takes pieces of memories, even something that we wouldn’t normally remember – drinking a glass of water, feeling the heat from a room warmed by a fire – and it weaves those parts together to make…dreams.” You lifted a hand toward the door. “Steve just told me about a dream where he was in a building he’d never been in before. His mind created it – seemingly out of nothing.”

Bucky nodded a few times and dropped his gaze. “It was so real.”

You reached up and touched his face and he looked at you. You offered a smile, brushing his cheek with your thumb. “I know. I felt the realness of it, just in your retelling. I can’t really give you an in-depth meaning to it, until I’ve had time to think, but I can give you some of my initial thoughts?” You lifted your eyebrows.

“Okay,” he whispered. He shifted again and held your hands.

“All right, well, you worked on furnaces, as a teen – maintenance and repair. You’ve seen plenty of them lit before, so even without having the one at the camp lit, your mind could certainly create it.” You gave his hands a squeeze. “And I want you to hear me on this part, okay?” He nodded and you continued, “The only reason I was there in your dream is because I’m here…with you. We see each other every day.” You gave him a smile of encouragement. “I am living in your head, and that makes me the natural choice – plus, HYDRA planted that word ‘furnace’ in your mind as a means of control. It no longer holds that control, but that doesn’t mean your brain understands that completely.”

“But…why?” he sighed. “Why can’t my mind let go of them, if they’re no longer programmed as trigger words?”

“Bucky,” you murmured, “if I were in an accident and suffered an injury to my brain –”

“[Name], don’t…”

“It’s not a premonition, babe, just an example.” He sighed but you went on, “so an injury to my brain and they had to perform an intricate surgery to fix it, would it be fair of me to expect it to be healed immediately?”

He chewed on his bottom lip for a second and shrugged. “I see what you’re saying. My brain is healing.”

“Exactly. Your brain has been through a significant trauma. You’ve had those words in your head for decades. You’ve been,” you sucked in a breath, “_tortured_ with machines, wiping your memories, over and over. What Dr. Bachman and I did was surgery, in its own way, and it’s going to take time to heal.”

He leaned forward, his forehead on your shoulder and sighed, “So…_nightmares_ – new ones…ones that…that have _you_ in them and me…kill – uh, hurting you.”

You ran your fingers through his hair, loosening the bun in the process. You caught the black band that had held it and tugged it onto your wrist before continuing to slide your fingers through the soft strands. “Maybe we can…” you rolled your lips, trying to figure out a solution, “maybe if you were near, when you were sleeping, I could use the…the lullaby – coax your mind, train it to diffuse the nightmares.”

He lifted his gaze and smirked. “Near?” His eyes flicked past you to the bedroom door. “How near?”

You shook your head. “You are incorrigible, Bucky Barnes.” You gave his shoulder a slight push and folded your arms in front of you. “I’m trying to help you with your nightmares and you’re getting frisky.”

“Frisky?” He chuckled. “I was just trying to figure out what you meant by near. Where was _your_ mind going?”

You could feel your cheeks burn and you laughed. “Sure…uh huh. I know exactly what you were doing, sir.” His eyes danced and it made your heart thump. _He has the sweetest spirit about things. It’s been minutes since he told me a terrifying nightmare and yet, he finds a light – always finds the light._

“So? How near?” he said, interrupting your thoughts.

You leaned forward, your face just inches from his and you heard his breath catch. “What if I said you should stay here? Err, or,” you thumbed behind you, “in there.” You sat back and ran your hands across the cushion. “And I’ll sleep on the couch.”

He let out a playful groan of disappointment and leaned hard with his left shoulder against the back of the couch. “That’s just mean.”

You laughed but then grew more serious, your mouth tugged to the side with hesitation. “Are you…ready?” You peered behind you and back to him. “For us…for _that_?”

“Oh, well, uh,” he stammered. He cleared his throat and gave a small shrug. “I…I know we joke about it – or really, I tease you about it, but…it’s been a while…I mean, I haven’t…”

You smirked then. “I’m not exactly the most experienced person, either, Bucky…not since college for me.”

“Really?”

“Well, I’ve been working – on cases like yours…well, not quite like yours, but tough cases. I haven’t had the time to –”

He covered your lips with his fingers and smiled. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I mean, the idea that some guy hasn’t swept you up already seems insane to me, but –”

“Oh, that’s a fine little phrase,” you teased. “Just FYI, you’ve already got me.” You winked and you both laughed.

“It’s true, though,” he whispered.

“It’s very sweet,” you returned. “I just…I don’t know if we should take that step until we’re no longer…or until I’m no longer your therapist.”

“Dr. Bachman gave us the green light, [Name],” he said, without actually looking at you.

“I…know.” You shrugged. “Maybe I am just nervous. What if I’m terrible?”

He laughed. “Not possible.”

“How do you know?”

“Because…I think we’re…we’re meant to be and…when it’s right and…when we do, it’ll…it’ll be amazing.”

Your mouth dropped open for a moment, a squeak was all you could manage before nearly leaping over onto him. You bumped noses, as he reached out to catch you and both pulled back, groaning from the sting. “That was glamorous,” you muttered, frowning at him. He looked at you over his hand that rested on his nose and you both burst out laughing.

He reached out and tugged you into his lap and you curled your legs up and wrapped your arms around him, snuggling into his chest. “I love you, you know,” he whispered.

“I know. I love you, too.”

“We’ll know…when it’s right.”

“Mm – it’s still okay…if you want to stay here.”

“I don’t think it’d be a good idea,” he said, his cool metal hand at the nape of your neck, fingers in your hair.

You sat back and looked at him. “Seriously? Why?”

“I don’t wake up peacefully from these nightmares, [Name]. I…I’ve torn up my bedroom more times than I can count.” He coughed and frowned. “And I’ve hurt you…before.”

“That’s what the lullaby is for,” you said. “I know I can calm you down. It works.”

“But if you’re sleeping, too – it’s not like you’ll know when it’s about to happen. I don’t want to risk it. I’d rather deal with them alone than hurt you again.”

You furrowed your brow. “Let me think through it, okay? Give me a day or two?”

He sighed, “Okay.”

You glanced at the front door and sucked in a breath through your nose. “I should probably check on Steve soon.”

He rested his arms around you. “I know his therapy is his business, but how _is _it going?”

“He’s angry – you know.” You pulled your hand down your face and let out a long sigh. “He wants to fight with everyone else and he’s mad that I won’t give him the go-ahead.”

“Right.” He shifted and put his leg up on the couch, repositioning you on his lap in the process. “He’s reasonable, though, isn’t he? I mean, he…he gets why he can’t go.”

You twisted your face. “I don’t think we should talk about it – not without his okay. I know you’re his friend, but unless he wants you to know –”

“Say no more. I’m just sorry Dr. Bachman’s not here to give you a break.”

“I wish Dr. B. would call me and tell me how _he’s _doing. I can’t help but worry, even when I remind myself how he closes up, when he’s working on a case. He tends to forget the day.”

“I can believe that. You make a good pair, though.”

You smiled. “I think so, too. I’m sure he’ll call, if or when he thinks it’s right.” You ran your hands on your thighs and shifted to stand up. “Anyway, I…I think I should go check on Steve. It’s been a while since –” you clamped your mouth shut and missed the look that crossed Bucky’s face.

“All right.” He stood next to you. “I’ll go and get cleaned up properly.” He slipped his hand over your wrist, retrieving the band and smirked. “See you in a bit?”

You smiled, dreamily, at him and nodded. He rewarded you with a sound kiss and turned, heading toward the door. You waited until he left to dash off and get dressed. It was time to face Steve and you needed a moment or two to prepare.

\---

You stood fist balanced at the door, halfway toward a knock. _I know you said you didn’t want me to check on you, but Steve, I’m your therapist. It’s my job, despite you thinking you could fire me. That’s not your call._ You sighed and licked your lips before knocking three times.

Steve yanked the door open, looking like hell and muttered, “What?”

Ugh. He wasn’t over his mood. _Hasn’t slept, either._ You swallowed. “I know you said you didn’t want me to check on you, but –”

“That’s right. I want to be left alone, [Name].”

“But I’m your therapist, Steve. It’s my –”

“_I do not need your help_,” he said, punctuating each word.

You glanced past him, seeing a suitcase opened and full of clothes on top of his dining table. “What in the hell?” you seethed, slipping beneath his arm and into the room. “Where do you think you’re going?”

He sighed and slammed the door shut, stepping around to stand in between you and the suitcase. “I’m not going to sit around here, while my team – my friends,” he sucked in air, “and the love of my life… are out on the battlefield.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Steven Grant Rogers, you are _not _ready. Look at you! You may be a super soldier, but you are already battle weary! You’ve clearly gotten little to no sleep and you’re on edge. What kind of assistance do you really think you’ll be giving like this?”

He stepped forward, his finger in your face. “You know what? I’m sick and tired of listening to you telling me how I’m supposed to feel or what I’m supposed to do! Just stay out of my way and stay out of my life!”

“I will not!” you screamed. “You are going to get yourself killed! Is that what you want?!”

He grasped your upper arms. “And what if it is?!”

You gaped at him. “How dare you! How fucking dare you say that to me! After everything –”

He pushed you away. “Stay out of my life!” he repeated. “Didn’t you get the message before? You are a waste! Nothing you do is working!”

The door behind you swung open, the knob making a hole in the wall, as the door slammed into it. Bucky stood, seething, his eyes narrowed. “What did you say?” he growled. 


	26. Chapter 26

What neither you nor Steve knew was that as soon as Bucky had left your apartment, he’d hovered in the hallway near Steve’s place. His mind had scattered from one thought to the other. Should he just go talk to Steve? Should he offer to be with you, when _you_ talked to Steve? He’d come to realize, though, that he could no longer stay out of it.

He figured that you’d had some kind of confrontation with Steve recently, and he knew that Steve was in a bad place. While he’d stood in the hall around the corner from Steve’s front door, he’d called Sharon, leaving a voicemail, letting her know that things were going from bad to worse in Wakanda with Steve and hoping her mission was nearly complete.

Just a couple minutes after he’d hung up, he’d heard footsteps approach and peered out from his hiding place to see you standing, readying yourself to knock on the door. It’d pained him. Your natural confidence was gone, replaced by a trembling creature trying to gain some composure.

When you’d finally knocked and Steve had opened the door, the exchange had stunned Bucky. He knew Steve was stubborn, but hearing him dismissing you, like yesterday’s trash, had been unreal.

Then you’d seen something in Steve’s apartment and slipped inside, Steve slamming the door right after. Bucky’d felt like he had no choice but to skulk over and listen.

_“I’m not going to sit around here, while my team – my friends…and the love of my life… are out on the battlefield.”_

“So damned stubborn,” Bucky muttered, shaking his head.

_“Steven Grant Rogers, you are not ready. Look at you! You may be a super soldier, but you are already battle weary! You’ve clearly gotten little to no sleep and you’re on edge. What kind of assistance do you really think you’ll be giving like this?”_

A smirk curled Bucky’s mouth. “That’s my girl.”

_“You know what? I’m sick and tired of listening to you telling me how I’m supposed to feel or what I’m supposed to do! Just stay out of my way and stay out of my life!”_

“What in the hell?” Bucky clenched his jaw, nearly thrown off by Steve’s words.

_“I will not! You are going to get yourself killed! Is that what you want?!”_

_“And what if it is?!”_

“Shit,” Bucky growled. He placed his hand on the doorknob and started to turn it.

_“How dare you! How fucking dare you say that to me! After everything –”_

_“Stay out of my life! Didn’t you get the message before? You are a waste! Nothing you do is working!”_

“Oh, hell no,” Bucky seethed, shoving the door open. “What did you say?”

Steve clenched his jaw and rolled his eyes. “Of course…of course, you’d show up.”

“Did you really just say that [Name] is a waste and that nothing she’s doing is working?” Bucky asked.

Steve lifted his hand out toward you. “She’s your problem. I don’t want her here telling me what to do!”

You tried moving to stand between the men, placing a hand on Bucky’s chest, but he slipped around you, the flash of his metal arm catching your eye as it landed across Steve’s throat and he pushed the blond up against the wall. “That’s her job!”

Steve shoved him off and swung, anger flashing in his eyes. Bucky slipped out of the way and then landed a punch to Steve’s gut, causing the already bone-weary soldier to slide down the wall to the ground. He knelt down and held Steve in place with his metal hand before saying, “I don’t want to fight you, Steve, but you’ve got to snap out of this, for everyone’s sake, especially your own.”

Steve started to shift, to pull himself out of Bucky’s hold, when his gaze met yours. You were standing, both hands over your mouth, tears making your eyes glisten.

And something inside Steve Rogers _broke_.

He let out a heavy sigh and glanced at Bucky, nodding once. Bucky backed off, standing and offering a hand. Steve took it and rolled his lips, as he stood next to his friend. Even though he’d looked at you just seconds before, he couldn’t seem to draw his gaze to your face again.

The nightmares, the guilt, the loneliness, the physical and emotional pain – it’d swept him under a tide for weeks and he couldn’t breathe.

You dropped your arms to your sides and slowly walked toward the men, aiming at Steve. Bucky watched, as you came closer, your head tilting, as you tried to catch Steve’s eyes. Steve sniffled, his head low, vision unfocused. He’d done it, hurt every single person he’d touched. _Why can’t I catch a breath? _He could hear you and feel you approaching and he battled – _push her away again, refuse help or admit that you’re living in the darkest side of your mind?_

“Steve,” you whispered. You lifted your hand out to touch his arm. “Steve, please…let me help you.”

Your fingertips somehow felt both hot and cold. He was back in time – the pre-serum version of himself again, resolute on the outside and full of trepidation within. He closed his eyes.

_Whatever happens tomorrow you must promise me one thing. That you will stay who you are. Not a perfect soldier, but a good man._

“Steve?” you said, placing your hands on his upper arms.

_What would Dr. Erskine say if he saw me now?_ Does a _good man_ lash out at everyone around him?

“Steve, you’re not alone.” _Silence_. You licked your lips and bit on your lower one before adding, “Steve, you _are_ a _good_ _man_.”

Tears slid down his cheeks and he shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“You’re hurting, but I _am_ strong enough. I’m not going anywhere.”

A wall fell and it was as if you could hear it crashing. He leaned forward, almost falling into your arms. You wrapped him in a hug and he clung to you. “I…I don’t even know who I am anymore.” He sucked in a breath and whispered, “I’m lost. I…I feel so lost.” His voice broke with a soft cry and Bucky stepped up, encircling you both in an embrace.

Steve’s fingers curled into your shirt and his tears wet your shoulder. “We’ll find a way, Steve,” you said. “We’ll figure it all out – _together_.”

Bucky’s phone buzzed in his pocket and after kissing your temple, he backed up and answered it.

“Bucky?” Sharon said, her voice breathless. “Bucky, I got your message. What’s going on? I’m…I’m on my way back right now. Clint and Wanda picked me up. We should be back in Wakanda within the hour.”

“Sharon,” Bucky breathed a sigh of relief. He then glanced at you and Steve. You were whispering something to him and he was nodding, his face still slightly buried against you.

Bucky stepped away, managing a “one second,” as he disappeared into the hall. “Steve’s in a bad place. [Name] is talking to him right now, but I think he could –”

“I’ll be there soon,” she said, her voice shaking. “Tell him I’m coming _home_.”

He felt another surge of relief course through him. “I’ll tell him.” He then filled her in on what’d happened the past few days and what he’d just witnessed moments before. She was in tears by the time their conversation ended, but thanked Bucky for letting her know all of it.

When he stepped back into the apartment, you’d coaxed Steve over to the couch, where you were talking to him, quietly. Bucky paused at the doorway and watched you. After everything Steve had said to you – and he imagined it wasn’t even the worst of it – you were back in place, as his therapist with nothing but concern and care written all over your face. His heart swelled and a smile curled his lips. He stepped further in and drew yours and Steve’s attention. He held up his phone. “Sharon will be home within the hour.”

The look Bucky passed you told you everything you needed to know. Sharon would walk through the doors, fully aware of the situation. You gave Steve a small smile and nodded. “I think it might be good for you, if Sharon is in on at least some of the therapy sessions. What do you think?”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Steve whispered.

\---

_Three weeks later…_

The change in Steve Rogers was phenomenal. He wasn’t jovial – that would’ve felt disingenuous. He was better, though, much better. He opened up about every nightmare, every pang of guilt, even the slightest ones. And he was making fantastic progress.

You’d spent a great deal of time with Sharon, too, talking with her about what to watch for and phrases to use. She’d soaked it up, like a champ. She kept her own trauma from her mission out of the spotlight, choosing to share bits and pieces of it with you in those late night chat sessions. In time, you’d told her, Steve would be ready and more than able to give her the support she needed in return.

They were quite the pair.

The other development was Bucky’s ‘transfer’ from his apartment to yours, although he insisted on being the one to sleep on the couch. You’d worked through more nightmares than you could count and the lullaby had come full circle – it became the tool to chase away the horrors of his past, one memory at a time.

You were still exhausted but the work was satisfying and you finally felt the blanket of failure lift from your shoulders.

You sat with your legs crisscrossed on the floor in your apartment, sorting through the mounds of papers and file folders. Organizing things was cathartic for you.

A knock at the door and you called out, “It’s open! Come in!”

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” came Dr. Bachman’s voice and you nearly squealed, as you jumped to your feet and raced to him.

Grasping him in an embrace, sent him stumbling back, laughter falling from his lips. “My goodness, my dear,” he said. He hugged you in return and when you pulled back, he took in your appearance – dark circles under your eyes and that deep-rooted exhaustion he knew all too well. “It seems I’ve come at a good time to give you a well-earned break.”

“Where have you been?” you scolded, humor lacing your words. You were too happy to see him to be genuinely angry – although, that might come later.

He furrowed his brow. “You didn’t receive my e-mail updates?”

You smirked and backed into your apartment, dragging him along. “Yes, this is the face of a person who is fully aware of what’s going on. No, I didn’t receive any e-mails.”

He scratched his head and frowned, whispering an e-mail address twice.

You pressed a hand to your forehead. “Dr. B.! I haven’t used that e-mail for two years!” A bit of anger tittered through you. “Why wouldn’t you call? Didn’t you wonder, when there were no responses?”

He lifted an eyebrow and covered his mouth. “I asked you not to worry with responding in the e-mails. I was working almost constantly.” He glanced down at the stacks of papers on the floor. “As were you, I see.”

Could it possibly be? He was gone for weeks with no communication, clearly had turned his phone off, and it was all because he’d used an old e-mail. You let out a chuckle and shook your head. “We have got to learn a better method of communicating. No one on this planet or any other will believe this.”

He ran his hand down his face and sighed, “I’m so sorry. My mind has been a twisted mess.”

You led him over to sit down and he told you about the call from an old friend and colleague, besieging him to help with a special client. He left, not realizing that the entire remaining piece of your support system would also be called away, leaving you alone with two hurting soldiers. He was horrified, cursing under his breath.

When you gave him a hug of understanding, he breathed a sigh of relief and then set in on getting updates from you on the super soldiers. You filled him in and his heart sank.

“[Name], I’m so sorry. You’ve really been put through the ringer.” He patted your hand and smiled. “But I have a plan and I hope you like it.”

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity pulsing through you. “A plan?”

He let loose a sigh and smirked. “I think it’s about time you were less therapist and more…” he twisted his mouth and furrowed his brows, searching for the right word, “girlfriend?”

Your face turned bright red and you wanted to crawl under the coffee table and hide. “Wh…what?”

He eyed the couch. “Bucky’s been staying here, right?”

“To help him through his nightmares,” you stuttered, “I mean, I…we weren’t…I mean, we haven’t…”

Dr. B. chuckled, giving your hand a squeeze. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, [Name]. That’s none of my business, but I am telling you that you’ve earned a break.” He let out a long sigh and did a terrible job of trying to hold back a smile. “Might as well take that break with the young man you’ve fallen in love with, no?”

Your mouth dropped but no words came, only a small squeak. You were hot all over, perspiring in places you didn’t know could perspire.

Dr. B. waited but he could tell you were battling and didn’t want to drag out the awkwardness any further. “It’s settled then. You are off the clock. Two weeks.” He glanced around. “And leave this place. I’ll speak with T’Challa about getting you and Bucky off somewhere.” He paused before adding, “I’d choose somewhere private? Bora Bora?”

Your mouth was dry, like someone had shoved cotton balls in it as some kind of weird contest. You couldn’t process what he was offering. Was it possible? Bucky’s arm was a bit conspicuous, wasn’t it? He was still being hunted, right?

You began to protest, when Dr. B. added, “There are resources, my dear. Don’t worry. It’s time for you to escape for a while. I’ll take over for Steve.” He watched you for several seconds and then whispered, “Go, [Name]. You’ve earned it.”


	27. Chapter 27

A couple of days passed and you still hadn’t mentioned to Bucky that Dr. B. wanted you to take two weeks away. It was a nice gesture from your boss, but there were too many factors at play.

After all, Bucky was still a fugitive. Bora Bora might be relatively isolated but it’s not like Bucky and his shiny new arm could easily hide. What was he supposed to do? Wear long sleeves in the warm, tropical setting?

Even if you found some remote island, how would you get there? T’Challa had already given so much, more than any of you could repay. You weren’t about to hit him up for some vacation funds. He was busy dealing with his own country’s problems, anyway. He’d been more than a host, too. He was a friend and you simply couldn’t ask him for anything else.

You huffed, crossing your legs up on the couch and then shook the cobwebs loose. You needed to concentrate. You couldn’t go anywhere without getting the notes sorted, the files managed. You’d gotten backlogged, what with the endless therapy sessions and getting both Sharon and Sam up to date on the soldiers’ progress.

You sifted through your notes, highlighting dates and putting them in order. You then collected them into file folders and started working on your other documentation and research you’d gathered. It was tedious work, so you’d made Bucky, Dr. B. – and anyone else who might think of it – promise to leave you alone until you were finished.

The problem was you couldn’t stop thinking about two weeks alone with Bucky. You wanted it – needed it.

Steve could use a vacation, too, and part of you wondered if a trip for four might be in the cards. You smirked. Sure. Bucky would totally go for that. Although Steve had made incredible progress and even apologized to you for his harsh words, Bucky was still a little sore. You tried to assuage the bad feelings but ultimately, it was up to Bucky to get past it.

No doubt, part of his remaining anger at Steve was rooted in Steve’s confession that the biggest reason he had been struggling was because of Bucky’s own issues. While it wasn’t his intention, it’d hurt Bucky to hear it. It would take some time to release the fresh guilt he felt. Time. Time _away_. That’s what _he_ needed.

You shook your head. There was no way. You not only needed to go somewhere very secluded that offered no chance of Bucky being seen, including a place with easy access to a market and a kitchen – you weren’t about to take him out to restaurants – you would also need it to be peaceful, a place where you could continue helping Bucky through his nightmares without “disturbing” any neighbors.

You scratched your nose and frowned. And you’d have to have transportation to get to such a place. _I’m not going to ask T’Challa. He is not some kind of open wallet for the rest of us._

You grabbed the last stack of research papers and organized them, just finishing as a light tap sounded at your door.

“Yes?” you called out.

“[Name], it’s me, Dr. Bachman. I know you said not to disturb you, but I’ve got some news that’s of the utmost importance.”

You smirked. There were exactly three men currently in this facility that you could never become angry with – Dr. B., Sam Wilson, and Clint Barton. T’Challa would make the list, if he were there. You stood and stretched and then jogged to the door, swinging it open. “What’s the news?”

He grinned at you and waited until you stepped back to enter. “Well, first,” he paused until he heard the door click closed, “you should know who my secret client was – the one I was helping in Berlin.”

You walked around him, your arms folded, eyebrows raised. “You’re actually going to tell me?”

He chuckled. “You hadn’t asked.” His eyes grew wide. “You’re not curious?”

You tugged on his elbow, leading him to the couch. After you sat, you patted his arm. “Of course, I’m curious, but he’s your client, not mine.”

“He’s our client, [Name], even though you weren’t there. In normal circumstances, you would’ve been, so…”

You chewed your lower lip and then nodded. “All right. Out with it then. Who was the mystery client? I’m guessing I’ve heard of this person?”

Dr. B. leaned back and let out a sigh, “If you’ve heard of Tony Stark, then yes.”

You gasped and then choked on the spittle that flew down your windpipe. Dr. B. sat up, concerned but you held up a finger to let him know you were fine, just…shocked. You grabbed your water bottle and took a sip, clearing your throat several times. “T…Tony Stark?” you managed with a squeak.

Dr. Bachman rubbed his thighs and stood, beginning to pace. “He’s been in contact with T’Challa. He knows what’s going on here…well, most of it.” He turned to face you. “He knows the work we’ve done with Bucky and with Steve.” He raised his eyebrows. “He wanted you to help, actually.”

“Me?” you squeaked again. “Why me?”

“The lullaby, my dear. He was hoping for something similar from you to help him. He’s had terrible nightmares, you see.” He shook his head, dropping his gaze.

You covered your mouth, whispering, “My goodness.” You licked your dry lips and let out a long breath. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Dr. Bachman gave a sad laugh. “It wasn’t that long ago that he was trying to take the life of the man you love, [Name]. Would you have gone?”

You swallowed. Would you have? Some of Bucky’s nightmares contained one very angry Tony Stark. Would you have been able to put your feelings aside to help him? You hoped you would, but in that moment, you knew your boss and friend had made the right choice. “I…I suppose it would’ve been… pretty damn hard to go.”

“I should’ve told you,” he conceded. “Not to challenge you to put aside your heart but just so you would know why I was gone so fast and so quietly. I am sorry for that.”

You stared at nothing in particular and blinked a few times before rolling your lips and shaking your head. “No…no, it’s okay. I doubt knowing would’ve helped what I was trying to do here.” He shrugged in mild agreement and you tilted your gaze. “How did…it go?”

He re-joined you on the couch and smiled. “Very well. Very well, indeed. He has the tools now to work through any new nightmares that might come his way and he knows how to reach me, if he needs counseling over the phone.” He shifted his gaze to the stacks of file folders on the coffee table. “I also made sure he set up meetings with my colleague that I originally told him about months ago.”

Wow. Tony Stark. You still hadn’t quite grasped it. Were you and your beloved boss turning into the official therapists for the Avengers? You smirked and looked down at your hands. “That’s wonderful. I’m glad he got the help he needed.”

There was silence for a few minutes and then you piped up, “Wait…you said ‘first,’ like you had something else to tell me? About Tony Stark?”

Dr. B.’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. He gave your knee a firm set of pats and then asked, “Have you thought anymore about my suggestion? That you take a couple of weeks off with Bucky?”

You sighed, frowning. “It’s almost all I’ve been able to think about, but I just…I don’t see how we could possibly pull it off. We’d have to find a very private place and figure out a way to get there. And honestly? There’s just no way I’m going to ask T’Challa to fund the…” your voice trailed off and you met Dr. B.’s gaze, as his hints sunk in.

“Tony offered. He owns properties all over the globe and he has more than enough funds to make sure it’s a vacation you won’t soon forget.”

You pushed up off the couch and began your own pacing. “But…but he and Bucky aren’t exactly…”

“He wants things to be made right – with Bucky, with Steve…everyone.”

You spun around and gaped at him. “Okay, but that doesn’t mean he has to fork over money and vacation homes to ‘fix’ the problem. They need to all sit down and talk it out.”

Dr. B. stood and walked over to you. “And they will, my dear. There will be plenty of time for that, but not until you and Bucky…and Sharon and Steve…get some time away.” You opened your mouth to ask, but he beat you to it. “At separate locations. Both couples need ‘couple time.’”

Couple time. Were you and Bucky a couple? You held back a smirk. You hadn’t slept together – hadn’t slept in the same room, even. You loved him, though and you knew he loved you, too. That definitely qualified you as a couple.

“Okay,” you whispered.

He raised his eyebrows. “Okay?”

You laughed, “Yes, isn’t that the right answer?”

He joined your laughter, his body shaking. “Any thoughts about where you’d like to go? Bora Bora still on the table?”

You wrinkled your nose. There was a certain beach you fell in love with not too long ago, and some day you hoped to take Bucky there, but not this time – and so beaches were out. “I think what I’d really like is to go to a cabin in the middle of nowhere, maybe set in the mountains or surrounded by trees…or both. Somewhere where the weather is mild and we can sleep with the windows open at night. A swing on the porch and…”

Dr. B.’s chuckles interrupted your dream-filled list and he touched your arm. “I have no doubt Tony can fill that tall order.” When you looked at him, he smiled. “Now, it’s just up to you to tell Bucky, no?”

\---

Twenty minutes later, you found your favorite super soldier walking through the immense garden set in the middle of the grounds. When he saw you, his face brightened. “You finished?”

You nodded, trying desperately to keep from grinning like an idiot. You stepped along the path toward him and slipped your arms around his waist. He returned the hug, kissing your hair, his lips lingering there for several seconds.

When you pulled back, you said, “Congratulations, James Buchanan Barnes, you have earned an all-expense paid trip with me…_somewhere_…for two weeks.” You smirked. “Interested?”

“Are you serious?” His face was a mixture of excitement and concern. “How?”

You frowned. “You don’t want to know – not now anyway.” You shrugged. “Besides, it doesn’t matter, does it? We get to go away, just the two of us.”

“It doesn’t seem possible.”

You gave him a squeeze, burying your face in his chest and breathing him in. “I know,” you sighed, “are you ready?”

He chuckled. “I am, but you’re my therapist, so you tell me…am I ready?”

You groaned, “Ohhh, Bucky, don’t.”

“What’s the matter?” His voice was light, playful.

“It’s just so _unethical_.” You stuck out your tongue and made a face. “My psychologist side will never forgive me for falling in love with _you_…my _patient_.”

You could feel him shrug as he held you. “It’s not your fault that I’m so irresistible.”

You laughed then and it bounced around the garden. Curling your arms around his neck, you shifted so that your faces were softly touching. And for the next several minutes you both simply stood there in silence. The wind was light, just enough to ruffle your hair, brushing his against your cheek. You felt him breathing, his heart thumping. He’d move only to hold you more tightly, his hands running up and down your back from time-to-time.

He smelled of citrus and spices, woods and juniper berries – the new cologne you’d bought for him. Hints of balsam curled into your nose. You wanted to turn your head and kiss his neck, nudge behind his ear with your nose, nibble on the soft lobe of it. You could feel your body tingle, a distinct pulse rising and emptying you of all your sensibilities. _Two weeks_. Could you leave _now?_

“What’s wrong?” Bucky whispered, pulling back to look at you.

“N…nothing.” Your eyes searched his face. “I…I just…”

His brows furrowed, a comical look filling his features. “You just?”

“I can’t wait to get away…with you. That’s all,” you managed, your face burning.

All signs of humor slipped away from him and he touched your chin with his cool metal fingers. “I love you, [Name].”

Your eyes fell to half mast, as your focus aimed at his mouth. You said nothing, only responding with a kiss. His hand dropped from your chin to your waist and he tugged you closer, his fists curling into your t-shirt. It took every ounce of your willpower to keep from dragging him to the ground on top of you.

You broke away instead and murmured, “Go pack, Mr. Barnes.” He stared at your red lips and licked his own. Lust made his eyes sparkle like moonlit rivers and you took in a shuddering breath. “Pack,” you muttered again, patting his chest with both hands. “We’ll figure out the rest of the details soon.”

\---

It’d been another ten minutes and two more prolonged kisses before you’d finally parted ways to pack your bags. Halfway through your own, you realized you weren’t really sure _what_ to pack _for_ and when you opened your apartment door to hunt for Dr. Bachman, you found Bucky standing there, ready to knock, the same question slipping out in a rush of words.

You’d both laughed, holding hands and meandering through the facility until you found your boss and mentor munching on chips and reading Wakanda’s leading newspaper – a creature of habit. He looked up and smiled, his eyes moving from you to Bucky and back. He folded the paper and placed it gently on the table before saying, “So I’m guessing she told you about the trip?”

Bucky gave your hand a squeeze and nodded. “What she knew about it.” Dr. B. furrowed his brows and Bucky added, “We don’t know where we’re going or when?”

You piped in, “We started packing and realized…”

Dr. B. chuckled and then pushed up out of the chair. “Well…” He stepped over to the island and picked up a file. “I asked for some choices to be sent over.” He held the folder out to you. “There are three, all of them secluded cabins in mild weather locations. It’s up to you now.”

\---

Aragon, Spain…that’s where you were headed. A dome and glass “cabin” set inside 100 acres of rivers and streams, forests and wildlife. It hadn’t been a difficult choice. You couldn’t even remember the other two. When you’d first looked at the pictures, you’d both gasped. The views from the cabin were impeccable and the privacy was unmatched.

Dr. Bachman had explained that the kitchen would be well-stocked and a number given, should you need anything further – promising the utmost in secrecy. It was perfect. All that remained was revealing, to Bucky, _who_ owned the cabin, _who_ had become your benefactor. Was it wrong to let him believe it was T’Challa? If he knew it was Tony’s, would it spoil the mood?

\---

You sat across from Bucky in your apartment, legs bouncing nervously, as he continued to stare at the photographs. He shook his head in disbelief and set them down. “Tony?” he whispered, frowning.

You nodded and then pressed your elbows into your knees to stop the shaking. “Do you want to…cancel the trip?”

“No…no. It’s just that…”

You waited, not wanting to fill in the words for him. _The perpetual therapist_. You tilted your head to the side and watched him battle. You’d half expected him to be angry at you for not giving him that bit of information from the start, but he was more shocked than anything.

When he looked up at you, worry creased his brow. “It’s not a trap…is it? A way to capture…”

You held up your hand and then abandoned the distance between you, crossing the space to sit next to him. “Dr. Bachman assures me that Tony wants to make things right. He…he’s getting better and I guess…” you shrugged, “how else does a billionaire apologize?” You’d said it with humor but your voice fell off when Bucky gaped at you. “Sorry, babe.” You curled your hand over his and squeezed it. “Let’s not think about his reasons now – only know that Dr. B. would never risk putting you in harm’s way if he wasn’t one hundred percent sure everything was on the up and up.”

Bucky nodded before flipping his hand over and intertwining his fingers with yours. “Let’s go. Dr. B. said we’d leave at night?”

“T’Challa thinks it’s best. We still have to go out with our heads covered to keep this location unknown. His plane will land at an airport out of the country and then we’ll switch over to one of Tony’s private jets.”

Bucky let out a low chuckle. “We’re running with the rich and famous, huh?”

“Famous…_infamous_, whichever.” You nudged him with your elbow. He kissed your brow. You savored his breath on your skin and then whispered, “I’m glad we’re doing this.”

“Me, too,” he returned. “Me…too.” 


	28. Chapter 28

The trip had been relatively uneventful. Leaving Wakanda was a mystery, of course, but climbing aboard Tony Stark’s jet, finding champagne and other such delicacies awaiting had turned the trip into something strange, for the both of you. Sitting in leather seats that seemingly coaxed you to sleep and being waited on at every turn made you both feel out of place.

You hoped those feelings wouldn’t linger, as you turned the steering wheel of the convertible you were driving to the left and then slowly released it – letting it spin in your hands. The car made its way around the final bend in the drive, ending at a breathtaking cliff near the front of the house.

The shiny black BMW M6 had been waiting at the one-runway airport – another nice surprise – with keys, a map, and a typed note from Dr. B. in the glove compartment, reading _Have a wonderful time_. With those four words, the unsure, hesitant feelings dissipated…at least for the time being.

You’d offered to do the driving, since Bucky shyly admitted to being out of practice. Motorcycles had become his vehicle of choice since his escape from HYDRA. He hadn’t driven a car since the 40’s. His reddened cheeks that appeared at the admission drew a kiss from you and a touch to his face before you tugged him over to the vehicle and gave him the title of “travel coordinator and directional expert.” He rewarded you with a grin and then opened the door for you.

Once you were both settled, you’d headed out toward the isolated cabin – a nearly three hour drive away.

As you pulled the car up in front of the house, both of your mouths dropped open. Despite your luxurious travel accommodations thus far and the pictures of the place, neither of you were prepared for the cabin’s beauty _or_ its immense _size_.

\---

You turned slowly in the middle of the living room, taking in every detail. Bucky was upstairs, putting your bags in one of the main rooms that overlooked a forest that seemed to have no end – a room you’d chosen together.

As you ran through an invisible checklist in your mind, you realized that there were so many things you wanted to see – streams to investigate and rivers to swim; marked paths that stretched out from the cabin in several directions, beckoning you to follow them to unknown adventures. But as you stood in that room, you felt overwhelmed that you were there at all, especially there alone with Bucky.

You hugged yourself and swallowed. You wanted so much to just enjoy this trip, to bask in the quiet, the alone time with a man you never expected to fall in love with but managed it nonetheless. But a thought betrayed you, made you hesitate. What would he think, when you told you him you brought –

“You okay?” Bucky asked, as he jogged down the stairs.

You jumped but responded, “Mm, I’m good.” You smiled at him and opened your arms. He dragged you into a hug, lifting your feet from the floor before slowly setting you down. Your worries faded away.

“This place is amazing, isn’t it?” he said, nearly breathless.

“It’s stunning and really, really big.”

He chuckled, nodding. “Indeed.” He pressed a kiss to your lips and then asked, “What’s first on the agenda?”

You felt your cheeks flush. “Uh, well…are all the bags up in the room?” He nodded, a smirk curling his lips. “Should we, uh, unpack them?”

He shrugged. “If you want to…”

You stared up at him. _My goodness, he’s beautiful_. You gulped and then whispered, “What would you like to do?”

Without a word, he swept you up in his arms and turned toward the stairs. He took them rather slowly, steering you around the slight twists to keep your feet from bumping the railing. You thought about saying something, trying some sarcasm or teasing, but you could find no words.

Instead, you watched him, your arms around his neck. _Was this it? Right off? As soon as you walked through the door? No wooing? No romance?_ Your eyes traced the invisible line up his jaw, across his cheekbone, up to his eyes and his damned eyelashes. _Oh, who needs some epic romantic gesture?_ You almost scoffed aloud. Your lust for him was strong, running through you in waves.

He reached the landing and turned toward the bedroom. It was decorated in deep blues and soft greys. A king-sized bed dominated the space, sitting near the middle of the room, and facing the wall-length window. A matching dresser and chest sat next to each other along the far wall across from two doors – one to a massive closet and the other to the exquisite en suite.

The sun was just beginning to peek above the expanse of trees, painting the sky in oranges and pinks. A waterfall splashed over a group of rocks off to the right, the sunlight drawing a rainbow over the water. You were suddenly thankful for that luxury plane ride with the leather seats that had afforded you a good amount of sleep…because this was definitely _the time_.

“You still want to unpack?” he asked, stirring you from your thoughts.

You met his gaze and shook your head.

He gently released you, waiting until your feet touched the ground to whisper, “What would you like to do, [Name]?”

You tilted your head back and slipped your hand into his hair, pulling his mouth to yours. Your lips parted and you went to your tiptoes, both hands now in his hair, fingers curling. His arms encircled you, his left hand moving to the nape of your neck, his right sliding down your back to your behind, cupping it, as he pressed you against him.

Sighs and soft moans drifted out into the room, in between kisses. There was no question in either of your minds what the other wanted, what you _needed_. As if an impenetrable door had been opened and you ran through it together.

He shifted, sliding his hands up under your shirt. You pulled back, as he lifted it up and over your head before wrapping yourself more tightly around him, lips on his neck, over his jaw, and finding his mouth again. Desperation. You felt it to your core. You almost wanted to scold yourself for waiting this long.

There was freedom in this place…in being finally and truly alone with him.

More clothes tossed in all directions and then he drew you to the bed. He needed time. After all these months and months…you were there in front of him and he wanted to study your body, every freckle, every scar – and he wanted you to know him, too.

“What do you want, [Name]?”

His breath was so hot against you. “You. I want you.” You moaned, “_Please_.”

“There it is,” he breathed.

Minutes passed in whispers and love fulfilled.  
  
Hearts beat against each other and then he kissed you before falling over onto his back. Words were lost to breaths – besides, no words were necessary. The afterglow glistened on your skin and you couldn't have been happier that you hadn't waited another moment. It'd been all you dreamed of and more.

\---

Half an hour later, you were cleaned up and starving. Bucky had let you clean up first and you bounded down the stairs to start breakfast. When he joined you in the kitchen, you couldn’t help but notice a certain bounce to his step, as well.

You stood at the stove, stirring the eggs and daydreaming, when he slid up behind you and nuzzled your neck. “What can I do?” he asked, his hands at your hips.

“I’ve got these eggs going and bacon on a cookie sheet in the oven. What else do you want?”

His hands slipped down then to the front of you and he chuckled. “Round two?”

“Mm,” you sighed, leaning into him and closing your eyes. You slowly opened them and stirred the eggs again. “Eat food first,” was all you could manage. All the teasing you’d planned earlier went out the window. There would be no hiding how much you wanted him. Spending the entire time there in bed didn’t sound like a bad idea and your imaginary list from earlier fluttered away.

He laughed again and gave your hips a squeeze. “Tell you what. I’ll make some toast and after we eat, we should go find that waterfall.” He moved away and you pouted, as his warmth moved with him.

“If you want…” you sighed.

He glanced at you. “Or not.” He shrugged. “We’ll play it by ear. How’s that?”

You grinned at him. “Better.”

\---

Breakfast complete and you sat next to him at the table, your fluffy-socked foot swinging from your crossed leg. He was flipping through the folder that Dr. B. had given you with pictures of the “attractions” nearby. There was a map in there somewhere that laid out trails, rivers, and waterfalls and he was determined to find it.

Unfortunately, it gave you time to forage back through the bliss and find the worry you’d brought with you. At the last minute back in Wakanda, you’d made a decision – a plan that you thought was brilliant and perfect. As you sat watching him, you wondered if you had been delusional instead.

This was supposed to be time away, time to be a couple. It was misery enough remembering the layers of oaths you’d broken, falling in love with your patient…and now, added to that, having amazing, incredible, earth-shattering sex with your patient. Wasn’t it best to leave the therapy stuff behind while you were here? _Really…what were you thinking?_

Bucky found the map and tugged it free from the notebook. “It does have the distance on here. Good.” He glanced up at you and smiled. Light played in his blue-gray eyes, until he saw the darkness clouding yours. “What’s the matter?”

You sat up and leaned against the table, arms out, hands splayed. “I need to tell you something, but I’m not…” You shook your head. “I have to tell you but I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

He set the map down and moved the notebook to the side. He covered your hands with his and swallowed. “What is it?”

You took in a deep breath and tugged your hands free before rising from the chair. “I’ll sh…show you.” Jogging away and up the stairs, you were back in minutes, a large envelope in your hands. _I don’t want to do this. Mistake! Mistake!_

Bucky stood up and met you halfway. You’d turned completely ashen, your lips drawn in a tight line. “[Name]?” was all he managed, as he took your arm and lead you to the oversized couch near the fireplace.

You sat together and you pulled up a leg to face him. He followed suit, warily watching your countenance change from fear to sadness and back again. “What is that? [Name], you’re scaring me. Out with it.”

You clasped the envelope and swallowed. “Well, see, I had this hair-brained scheme back in Wakanda that maybe we could accomplish something while we were here.” Despite his worry, a smirk curled his lips and it was rather contagious. “Not that…or _besides_ that. Bucky, seriously.”

He reached out and covered your hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb. “Sorry. Go on.”

You trembled and a frown creased your features. “Bucky, I brought the book, the journal…the…the thing with the words. The stupid, damned whatever the hell it is.”

He looked at the envelope with newfound understanding and his face betrayed his shock. “Why?”

You glanced at the fireplace and then back to him. “I thought we could burn it,” you blurted out.

He pulled his hand away and sat back, letting out a long breath. “Burn it,” he said, almost without realizing it. He looked up at you and then down at the envelope. “Therapy?”

You groaned. “Or…or you know…something a girlfriend might think of to help out her boyfriend. You know? Not necessarily something a therapist would do.”

He chuckled then, despite the subject matter. “Is that why you were so pale and shaky?” He scooted closer to you, taking the envelope from your hands and dropping it on the table with a thud. “[Name], the circumstances are different for us. You know that, don’t you? You are my therapist.” You groaned. “Hear me out. You are…and you’re my friend and…” he waited until you met his gaze, “the love of my life. I don’t care about oaths or ethics. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you whispered. “It’s just…it’s hard for me to separate them.”

“Then, don’t.”

“Bucky,” you sighed.

“I’m serious. So what if you’re my therapist? You didn’t become my therapist to fall in love with me, did you?” His eyes grew wide. “Or did you?”

You dropped your head. “I did. You caught me. My plan all along…”

He laughed out loud then and tugged you by the arm over onto his lap. You cuddled up against him, your head on his chest, his arms around you. He kissed your hair and let out a breath. “I know it’s not easy. I know how important your work is to you – and you’re a damn brilliant psychologist, [Name]. You’ve done so much for me and for Steve, too.” He shifted and you looked up at him. “I know you feel responsible for the way things crossed lines with us, but [Name], this is how it’s supposed to be. I guess, when it comes down to it, I don’t care how we got here. I’m just glad that we’re here.”

You nodded, tears cresting the brims of your eyes. “Me, too. It’s something I’m going to struggle with, though – but it doesn’t mean I wish we hadn’t…that we weren’t together.”

He kissed you and whispered, “I know.”

You leaned out toward the table and he held onto you to keep you from sliding off, as you retrieved the envelope. “I was actually thinking of a small bonfire…outside. There’s one of those fire pits on the patio.” You looked at him. “Thoughts?”

He took the envelope and opened it. Peering inside at the book made him shudder. “Let’s do it tonight. I don’t want this thing hovering over us.”

You leaned into him and looked at the envelope. “Sounds like a plan.” 


	29. Chapter 29

With Bucky choosing to wait until nighttime to burn the journal, the rest of the morning ran long. You busied yourself with cleaning things that didn’t need cleaning, straightening pillows, etc. until you finally sat down and began tapping your fingernails on the kitchen table. The red journal with the black star loomed over you.

Bucky slouched down in the intricate wooden chair next to yours. “[Name], do you want to burn it now?”

You frowned at him. “It’s not up to me. You need to decide when you’re ready.”

He glanced over your shoulder at the journal on the coffee table and then back to you. “Why do I feel so compelled to do it at night? Cover of darkness? Is there something left in me that feels guilty about turning it to ash?”

You pulled a foot up and rested your chin on your knee. “Maybe? Maybe you just like the contrast – the brilliance of the fire against the dark. The dark could certainly represent what HYDRA stands for in your mind and the fire? It cleanses, purifies. So by burning it at night, you’ll symbolically be cleansing the dark that journal represents.”

He chewed on his lower lip, his brows furrowed.

“When you think about it burning, turning to ash, as you said, how does it make you feel?”

He scoffed and looked away. “How very _therapist_ of you.”

His words cut and you grimaced, feeling the ache to your toes. “I didn’t mean to be so cliché. I just think we should go over these things before it’s gone for good.”

He dropped his head and reached out, taking one of your hands in his. “I’m sorry, [Name]. It has…some kind of hold over me still. I know it shouldn’t. I’m free. I know that.”

“Bucky, look at me, please.” He lifted his gaze. His eyes were almost pure grey, glossy in the sunlight that streamed through the tall windows. You covered his hand with your free one. “It has a hold over you because the worst parts of your life are written in it. It’s perfectly natural for you to feel the way that you do, _especially_ with it being nearby.”

He scooted closer to you and then leaned forward to kiss the back of your hand. He shifted and lingered there, eyes closed, forehead resting against your fingers. What you wouldn’t do for him. What you wouldn’t give to end his pain.

“I love you,” he whispered. When he looked at you, his eyes were pleading. “Can we get out of here? Please?”

You stood and pulled him into your arms. “Of course…of course, we can. There’s lots to explore.”

He held you, lifting you off the ground. Your legs wrapped around his waist and you buried your face against his neck.

A stranger might see the display and imagine romance and lust but there was nothing sexual about the embrace. You were doing your best to create a shelter, a safe place for Bucky to cling to, and he accepted that shelter, completely. Had a shadow formed there, it would’ve been one – impenetrable.

Silence consumed the room for several minutes before he slowly began to release you. Your legs slid down, your feet lightly touching the floor. You placed a hand on his cheek. “Where would you like to go? A trail? The creek nearby? There’s a river not too far from here.”

“Lead the way,” was all he could manage.

You nodded and before ten minutes passed, you were dressed and ready to go, map and small lunch in hand.

\---

“Bucky, look!” you shouted, tugging on his hand and pointing off to your right. He stepped up behind you and slid his metal hand around your waist as he peered over your shoulder at the two deer hiding in the brush.

He chuckled. “You’re going to scare them away.”

You covered your mouth and laughed. “Sorry,” you whispered. The deer were staring right at you but they didn’t budge. You leaned into Bucky and let out a sigh, enjoying the moment.

You spent the next several hours following trails and skipping rocks across pools of water you found along the way. When your stomachs growled, you found a patch of earth beneath grand trees to lay the checkered blanket and set out the sandwiches and small bags of chips you brought. Once you retrieved the water bottles, Bucky sat down next to you.

He didn’t say much and you didn’t push him. It was clear he was battling with that journal, despite the distance you’d created between them. If he had something to say, you felt confident that he’d speak up.

\---

You finished your sandwich and chips and turned to lay back and stare up through the trees. You waited, hoping Bucky would join you.

Instead, he stood, brushing crumbs off his legs and stepped away.

You turned your head, following him as he walked to the edge of the clearing. He leaned against a towering pine, his back to you, and folded his arms. A breeze filtered through, blowing his dark brown hair off his shoulders.

You narrowed your eyes, taking in his form, wondering what he was thinking and whether or not you should ask. Your own little battle – let him stay silent or press him? Girlfriend or therapist? You frowned.

“I hate them,” he said and you sat up, criss-crossing your legs.

“Me, too.”

“They took everything.”

“They did.”

He huffed out a breath. “You know, I know the stories, how the history books talk about Steve Rogers – the puny kid who didn’t like bullies, who made the ultimate sacrifice.” He huffed again. “I knew that kid… better than anyone. He just wanted to serve his country.”

You wanted to get up and go to him but you stayed put.

“I was terrified of serving, and yet there he was, sick and scrawny, lying on enlistment forms and forcing his way into battle. All I wanted to do was keep living my life…maybe find,” he sighed, “find a girl…start a family. _Live_.”

The sun slipped out from behind a cloud, sending beams of light through the trees. Bucky turned to face you. “I didn’t want any part of the war.”

You nodded.

“Sure, I embraced the military life. I trained. I served. Did what I was told and for what?”

You blinked back tears.

“Captured, tortured, experimented on.” He ran his hand down his face. “And then there he was… Steve, my best friend, my brother…but…suddenly bigger, stronger…different.”

“Everything changed.”

“Right.” He folded his arms and leaned against the tree. “I followed him into the fray because he asked me to.”

“He needed you.”

He scoffed. “Damaged, frightened…I’d become the puny, helpless one.”

“No.” You shook your head. “You were abused by Zola, Bucky, but you weren’t helpless or puny. You were hurt and despite all of that, you still felt the need to protect your oldest friend.”

“On his left, covering him.”

“Exactly.”

He looked at you, his eyes locking onto yours. “I did right by him, didn’t I?”

“Of course. Yes, you did right by Steve _and_ your country.”

He dropped his arms to his sides. “Then why, [Name]? Why did _it_ happen to me?”

You shrugged and shook your head. A lump formed in your throat, leaving you unable to speak.

He looked up through the trees, finding a blue patch of sky. “Did I do something wrong?” He stepped out from the tree and held out his arms, his focus still upwards. “Did I?!” he shouted. “How did I become the chosen one?! What did I do to deserve it?!”

His voice echoed and the wind kicked up. The trees shook and the blanket flapped beneath you. You covered your mouth with your hand and tears flowed.

He slapped his thighs and huffed out a sad laugh. “Why _not_ me, huh?” He met your gaze. “Isn’t that how it goes when you ask why? ‘Why me?’ ‘Why _not_ you?’” He shook his head and looked at the ground. “I certainly wouldn’t wish it on anyone else.”

You wiped at your tears and stood up. “It didn’t _have_ to be anyone.” You took a step toward him. “Nothing about what happened to you makes sense. It’s not fair or right. There’s no reason or excuse or purpose.”

“Maybe it was to make me stronger? I was such a coward. Steve was the brave one.”

You took another step toward him. “And you think that makes you, what? Deserving of torture? _Bucky_, you serving in the Army made you stronger. Hell, if there’d been no war, then living life itself would’ve made you stronger. That’s what we do. We live through circumstances. Good things come and bad, evil, horrible things come – we survive and that makes us stronger.” You stepped up to him. “There is no excuse, no reason. I know you think you need to make up one to _make_ it better but I’m telling you, that’s a lie your mind is trying to convince you is true. You _can_ hate it, every bit of it. You can burn that stupid journal up and watch the ashes blow away. You don’t need what HYDRA did to you to have a purpose. It’s not about them. It’s about _you_ and _you_ survived.” You let out a huff. “You didn’t just survive, either. You’re _living_.” You put your hands on his shoulders. “Despite them and what they did. You are _living_ and…and _loving_. Bucky, I can feel your love for me. It flows through me. It’s in my blood. You chose to live, to love, to fight back and you are winning. Do you hear me? They lost. You won.” You searched his face, tears racing down yours unbidden.

He sucked in a breath and trembled before nearly collapsing into your arms. Your hands went into his hair before you embraced him. He leaned so heavily against you, it took every bit of your strength to stand firm beneath the weight. He took hold of you and sobbed. Moments later, he dropped to his knees, his arms moving to around your waist. You held fast to him and cried with him.

Only the movement of the sun gave hint to the passage of time.

When he spoke again, his voice crackled barely above a whisper, “Will I ever be normal again?”

You let out a breath. “By what standards? We’re all abnormal, when you think about it.”

He chuckled against you. “I guess.”

You lowered yourself to the ground to face him. “What do you want? What ‘normal’ are you hoping for?”

“I…I want to wake up in the morning and find you beside me. I want to think about what we’ll do that day and for our plans to have nothing to do with my brain function or my past or HYDRA. I want my head to hit the pillow at night and to not worry that the nightmares will come, that you’ll have to soothe me for the hundredth time, the thousandth time. And in between the morning and the night, I want peace.”

“Okay.”

He let out a huff. “Okay? That’s it?”

“Well, not really, but it’s a start. And I happen to fully believe that we’ll get there.”

He looked at you. “Really?”

You nodded and smiled. “Really.” You ran your thumbs just beneath his eyes, wiping at the remnants of tears there. “You’ve already won the war. There might be some skirmishes left but that’s part of the reason why I’m here.”

“And the other reasons?”

You placed a kiss on his lips. “I think you know but I have no problems with reminding you. There’s absolutely no doubt in my mind that you weren’t meant for me and I for you. I love you with everything in me, Bucky.”

“I love you, too.”

You tapped your hand on your chest at your heart. “I know you do.”

He stood and pulled you to your feet. Glancing back over his shoulder in the direction of the cabin, he let out a sigh, “So we start with burning the journal.”

“Turn it to ash.”

“Ash,” he whispered. He looked at you again and reached out to touch your face. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’m so glad to have the privilege.” 

He leaned in for a kiss but didn’t linger. “Let…let’s go.”

He followed you back to the blanket, helping you to collect everything and fit it back into a bag. He then took your hand and you walked back to the cabin together in silence.


	30. Chapter 30

The fire crackled in the pit, sending sparks into the murky night. Clouds had rolled in, threatening a downpour. The air was thick. Loose strands of your hair stuck to your skin, the breeze offering little relief.

The recklessness of your “brilliant scheme” rode through you, taunting you with fear and failure. What had you been thinking? Dr. B. had told you to get away, be a couple, and you brought that damned journal for some kind of what? Ceremony?

The worst part was that once you’d brought the journal out into the open, it’d delivered nothing but pain-filled memories, fear, and eerie silence. You’d started the trip on such a high, making love for the first time, only to have the peace and goodness that’d brought stripped away.

The scene in the woods earlier in the day crowded your thoughts. That was your fault. Granted, the fact that Bucky had torn himself down, hated on his choices and his character and essentially had his tattered life as a brainwashed assassin taunting him was on HYDRA, always HYDRA. The problem was, you’d brought _them_ along with you in the form of that journal.

Dr. B. might claim the interaction as a positive, feelings Bucky had kept dormant finally rising to the surface to be revealed and worked through. And he’d be right, of course, but you hated seeing Bucky in so much pain. Perhaps he’d buried those feelings and needed to free them, but why did it have to be here? You wanted this place to be a new start, full of joy and freedom.

_But you brought that journal, [Name.] You did that. Dr. B. hadn’t even suggested it._

You sighed and stared at the fire. _Best to get it over with. _You dropped your gaze to the patterned concrete that wound itself into a circle just outside the backdoor. The heat from the blaze made your face burn, as a chill ran down your spine.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, a flash of lightning snapped, too far away to see its streaks.

You and Bucky stood next to each other, staring into the swirling, popping tangerine blaze. The journal sat waiting on a small round table, evil seeming to ooze from it in invisible, curling fingers.

You glanced up at Bucky, finding his eyes fixed on the small red book with the black star. So much history of torture – _his_ torture – was scratched onto each page.

“Ready?” you whispered.

He looked at you, his jaw clenched before merely nodding. You retrieved the journal, handing it to him, as you circled back around the pit.

Without formality, without a word, he dropped the journal into the flames. A billow of sparks flew up and around the book. Fire licked at the pages, the heat pushing the cover open in a dramatic, almost angry display. Pages flipped, their edges curling – turning black – before being consumed in a wisp.

You both watched as the drawings and scratched words were eaten away, bit-by-bit. Whispers swirled around you, as the book hissed in protest.

_Longing…_

_Rusted…_

_Furnace…_

_Daybreak…_

_Seventeen…_

_Benign…_

_Nine…_

_Homecoming…_

_One…_

_Freight car…_

You watched Bucky, curious as to whether or not he heard the words, too, perhaps in Russian. Was he reliving the past again? All of the work you’d done together, sifting through his torture, the assassinations, the fear and pain, the guilt? Was it finally burning away, shattering the hold for good or would it continue to haunt him for years to come?

You swallowed. He hadn’t moved since he’d tossed the book into the fire. He simply glowered at it, lips drawn tight, jaw clenched.

Several minutes passed. How long was it going to take to burn that damned journal away completely? The flames ate at it, like a fiery dragon and you found pleasure in watching it disappear. The storm in the distance grew closer. You felt desperation seep in_. Let it burn before the rain, please. We can’t bear going through this again. _

Reaching out, you gently caressed Bucky’s fingers with your knuckles. He responded, wrapping his hand around yours. You felt his pulse through his fingertips, thumping wildly.

“It’s taking its time,” he whispered, eyes still glued to the burning pile of paper and board.

“Yes,” you managed before needing to swallow the lump that formed. “It…it is.” You gave his hand a squeeze and then hesitantly leaned against his arm, wrapping both of yours around his and clasping his hand in between your hands.

His breath slowed and you felt him tremble. “They documented everything, every single thing they did to me.” He watched the scratchy writing disappear beneath flames.

“Yes,” you replied.

“Written as if it was some kind of manual, like I was nothing more than a machine.”

You closed your eyes and a single tear escaped down each cheek. Your voice came, hoarse with the ache that you felt, “They were _evil_, driven by a maddening desire for power. Humanity was a distraction.”

He huffed out a laugh. “You have a way with words.”

Sparks flew, as the journal collapsed further into the burning wood, the spine of it was nearly all that remained. “Was that too flippant of me?” You frowned.

He glanced down at you. “No…_no_. That was…accurate.” He turned and slipped his arm behind you. When you looked at him, he managed a small smile. “Thank you.” He sighed. “Despite what happened earlier today, I…I’m thankful that you brought it.”

“Are you? Really? It was foolish of me. Impulsive…”

“[Name], I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but this is the place we needed to be to do this.” He looked around, as lightning flashed and thunder rattled the windows. His gaze fell back to the fire. “Thank you for helping me burn it.” He reached up and tapped his temple, “And thank you for helping me clear this, too,” he added.

All you could do was nod in return. Otherwise, the tears would no longer be abated. You tilted your head toward the fire. With the journal all but gone, the flames had died down a bit. Scraps of paper were scattered around in the embers, still burning. You could only slightly make out fading scribbles of words, written by… _Wicked, evil, monstrous beings_. You hated them. What they did to Bucky haunted you, followed you around like ghostly shadows. 

Then, with one final hiss, the journal was gone.

Seconds passed before big drops began to dot the pavement around you, fizzling in the fire. Lightning and thunder crackled together making you both jump.

“Seems our timing was right!” Bucky shouted, grabbing your hand and tugging you toward the cabin. Rain fell in sheets, soaking you both before you could wrangle the door open and leap through it.

“Ugh!” you groaned, pushing your hair back off your face. You shook your hands and water sprinkled the floor.

Bucky broke out in laughter, watching you. “Feel like a drowned rat?”

You gaped at him. “Do I look like one?”

He stepped up to you, wrapping his arms around you. “Not even close.” He leaned in and kissed you, as bright flashes lit up the room.

Another round of lightning on top of thunder and the lights went out. You gasped and held onto Bucky. Being in the middle of nowhere with no electricity – you’d never experienced such complete darkness. If not for the storm itself breaking the night, you’d swear someone had covered your head with a cloak.

It brought to mind one of Bucky’s nightmares, one without symbolism or alternative meaning. A nightmare full of reality – the worst kind of dream.

\---

Whenever the Winter Soldier’s missions were complete, he’d be put on ice. “Nigh-due,” his Russian captors would say. It was one of many orders that made Bucky tremble, especially when the mission went long.

It was in those longer missions that his old memories would surface. His mind fought so hard to break through the programming. Flashes of his mother setting dinner on the table or children drawing hopscotch squares on the sidewalk would penetrate through and his focus would scramble.

“Why am I here? Who are these people? I’m supposed to kill them?”

He didn’t remember every mission, every kill, despite what he’d said to Tony during their fight. But the ones he remembered were enough.

Just a few months ago…

He sat across from you in your office. His hands folded and he was leaning on his elbows. He wore a long-sleeved, charcoal gray shirt and blue jeans that you remembered because the colors matched his eyes. He just finished a “memory session,” where he was recounting a conversation he’d had with Steve not long after Steve had rescued him from Zola’s experiment gurney.

“He told me the whole story of how he’d become ‘Captain America.’ He told me about Red Skull and what Dr. Erskine had said about the serum – that it enhanced whatever traits you already possessed. Red Skull equaled bad guy and so the serum had made him worse.” Bucky looked directly at you then, his eyes dark with sadness. “Dr. Erskine told Steve to hold on to the goodness in him. To remain ‘a good man.’”

You paused in your notetaking to offer a word. “Steve told me about their conversation.”

He lifted his hands and slapped his thighs. “That’s just it. Don’t you see? They put that serum in me and look what I became! I murdered people in cold blood. Mission after mission.”

“Bucky, we’ve already established that until they robbed the Starks…”

“_I_ robbed them._ I_ murdered them. I did that.”

“No. You were sent by HYDRA to do that. You didn’t choose…”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes! Yes, it matters! You aren’t a cold-blooded serial killer. You were forced into it – tortured beyond comprehension – and my point is that until they stole the genuine serum, they used Zola’s, which was subpar at best. Yes, it made you stronger and able to heal faster, but it wasn’t built the same as the one Steve had. It was made to force you into compliance, to help twist your mind into what they needed you to be.” You leaned forward. “Look at who they chose for the new Winter Soldiers. The purposefully picked people who already had evil intent. Zola chose you, despite who you are – kind, generous, brave, compassionate – because his formula was different. And if you think the knowledge of you being Captain America’s best friend was lost on him…”

He covered his face, shaking his head in silence.

“You _are_ a good man. That’s why when those missions went long, your old self battled its way to the surface. That’s why you challenged them and suffered for it.”

“I had a nightmare last night, a new one.”

You were so taken aback by his sudden change of subject, you weren’t able to grasp what he was saying, until he turned and laid down, ready for the hypnosis.

“Bucky? A nightmare breakdown? We weren’t planning one of those today.”

“I know but I need it.” He looked at you, pain altering his features. “I remembered – in my dream – what it was like to be ‘on ice.’”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Okay. We’ll go through it.”

Dr. B. had asked that whenever you worked through nightmares, you make a recording of it for him to observe at a later time. So you set everything up and coaxed Bucky into hypnosis.

“Tell me the dream,” you whispered.

“It had to have been a long mission. I don’t remember exactly but I was exhausted, mentally and physically. Blood stained my uniform, almost greasy against the black leather. Without saying anything to me, they’d stripped me and re-dressed me. I always found that strange. What did it matter, if I was going to be frozen?”

“It was part of their control.” You frowned at your notes. “Other than exhausted, how were you feel–?”

“Terrified. Right after I retrieved my motorcycle and started the engine, flashes of memory blurred my vision. I paused there, acutely aware that I was on a schedule and they would be expecting my return. I couldn’t clear the images away. Fighting on a moving train, picking up Steve’s shield – only I didn’t know it was Steve’s in that moment. I only knew I felt a deep need to protect someone. There was a blue flash, a blast and I was hanging on to railing for my life. A man – Steve – reached for me and I fell, screaming.”

He shifted, fidgeting on the couch. It was a common occurrence during his treatments. He licked his lips and groaned.

“I know it hurts but you can do this.”

He settled against the cushions and continued, “I couldn’t shake the images, no matter what I did. My radio chirped and a voice commanded me to return immediately. ‘Nemedlenno!’ By the time I finally got on the road and pulled into the facility, I was spent. I could barely walk. My head was pounding, even as I handed over the documents I’d retrieved.”

There was a pause, long enough to make you lean forward to check on him.

“Nigh-due!” He’d trembled, visibly shaken.

“On ice,” you whispered.

“Yeah. And I was desperate. I begged them not to – that I didn’t need them to. Surely there would be another mission soon.”

“No reprieve from their plans.”

“None. They dragged me to my tomb, shoved me in, and locked it. I reached up to the small glass in front of me.” He’d paused then, letting out a sigh, “I always wondered why that was there. Was it so they could watch me suffer? It couldn’t have been for my benefit.” His body wracked with a cough, another common occurrence, when describing moments where he felt constricted, unable to breathe. “I felt the cold consume me and usually, I’d black out.” Another cough. “But not this time. It was, well…it was like a coma, I guess? I was there, fully awake and aware of my surroundings but I couldn’t move. Utter blackness.”

You rolled your lips, willing back the emotions you felt rise to the surface. “It might be that your mind was trying to hold on, keep from being pushed back again.”

“It was hell. Fully conscious. My mind was clear, for the first time in years but I was trapped. I could feel the pricking pain of my body being frozen.”

“What did you do?”

“I battled. The murkiness around me seemed so real, like I could reach out and touch it. I wanted to tear it away, so I reached out for it, but it dissipated in my hands like smoke – only…it was replaced by more darkness.” He swallowed. “I screamed. I ran, felt like miles and miles, only to find nothing for my efforts.”

His voice fell away and he was silent. You could tell by his facial expressions that he was fighting against whatever came next. You set your notepad down and moved to sit on the table in front of him. Resting your hand over his, you whispered, “What is it?”

“Images,” his voice cracked. “That…that’s when the images came…”


	31. Chapter 31

You waited, letting him work through the process. There were times when it took hours, far past sunset, before his nightmares were cleared. Even then, parts could linger and wake him up in a cold sweat. Your goal, of course, was to take them apart until nothing was left.

He furrowed his brow. “P…people,” he muttered. “I don’t know. I don’t know them but they’re terrified.”

_His missions. Damn_. Every time you thought you’d covered all of them, something else would creep up into his consciousness. You gave his hand a squeeze but kept silent.

“The pain from the…from being frozen. It hurts so badly but it’s nothing like…” He groaned. “I don’t want to do this! Please!”

You watched his body shake. Veins appeared along his forehead and his arm with the strain and it took everything in you to hold your emotions at bay.

“How much more? How much longer? There’s so many of them.”

You frowned. _What on earth?_ You scanned the files in your mind’s eye, each mission. While there were times when there’d been collateral damage, you couldn’t remember one that would conjure the word “many,” as in “many victims.” You cleared your throat. “Bucky, clarify. Many?”

“Crowds. A crowd of people.” He jerked and cried out. “It hurts! Make…make it stop!”

You squeezed his hand. “You’re safe. I’m here.”

“I…I can’t…can’t breathe!”

That was it. You brought him out of his hypnosis immediately. He sat up, sweat on his brow, gasping for breath, his eyes wide. Without a word, he reached out to you. You moved to the couch and embraced him. “It’s okay. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have agreed to do this. We need to plan these hypnosis sessions out.”

He clung to you, his breathing slowly a bit. “It was s…so dark and c…cold. All the people were…” his voice fell away.

A thought came to you and you whispered, “Bucky, the crowds…was that in Dallas? Kennedy?”

He trembled. “I don’t know, not for sure. It was hazy.” He sat back and met your gaze. “It could’ve been?” He covered his face and leaned on his elbows.

You kept one arm around him and placed your free hand on his knee. “Let me go through this, okay?” He nodded. “You did _not_ choose. They chose for you. They _forced_ you. They tortured you until you complied. You _are_ a good man, a strong, brave soldier who deserved honors and accolades, not to be put through hell.” You leaned against him. “Do you hear my words?”

He nodded once. “I hear you.”

“The only explanation, until I can check through some medical journals on staying conscious during cryostasis, is that your free-will was attempting to fight against their programming.”

“That makes sense, I guess.”

You gave his knee a squeeze. “I think it does.”

“It was the worst – pain in my chest, every muscle throbbed…”

\---

“[Name]? [Name]? Where’d you go?”

His voice broke through your memory and you frowned. “Sorry, I…I just hate the dark.”

Lightning streaked across the sky and Bucky kind of chuckled.

Your shoulders drooped. “You know what I mean.” Thunder clapped and you jumped.

“Hey, hey,” Bucky whispered. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

You let out a sigh.

“What’s that for?”

“I was just – ” You shuddered and pulled from his embrace. “Let’s find some flashlights or candles or something and get out of these wet clothes.” You started to walk past him and he reached out, taking your hand.

“Talk to me.”

With your back to him, you sagged and sighed again. “Bucky, I don’t want to…to talk about it. It’s fine.”

“So you were thinking about one of our sessions.”

“Ugh! It’s not fair that you can read me so well.”

He pulled you back to him. “Which one?”

You grimaced. “The first one where we tried to work through the nightmare about…” you cleared your throat, “you being awake in cryo?”

“I remember.” he glanced around and then looked at you. “It is pretty dark here, huh.” He took a deep breath through his nose and blew it out. “I can see why this might bring that to mind.” He touched your cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head and your shoulders slumped. “We literally just went through something huge for you. I didn’t want to make it about me.”

He shrugged. “Why not?” He pointed outside. “That wasn’t just for me. It was for us, a way to start fresh, right?”

You crinkled your nose. “It was really just for you but you’re sweet for trying to make me feel better.” You pulled out of his embrace and walked over to the kitchen table. Thunder rumbled and you could tell the storm was moving on.

Bucky stepped up behind you. “[Name], it’s okay for you to be sad or angry. You don’t have to always be ‘the strong one.’”

“You’ve been through so much,” you whispered. “I don’t want you to have to carry any more than you already do.”

“Hey,” he gently turned you to face him, “part of us being together is shouldering each other’s _stuff_.” He tilted your chin up. “You’ve carried me through all of it. I…I _hurt_ you, exhausted you, drove you to the edge and back and you never gave up.” His eyes – icy blue in the moonlight – searched your face. “Let me be here for you, please?”

“But – ”

“Didn’t we just spend whatever amount of time burning up the last manual that someone wrote for me? Details covering every aspect of my life, rules to follow. There are no rules here with us. You were a fantastic therapist for me, [Name], but that part is over. You don’t have to counsel me or fix me or keep some wall built up so I don’t see your pain.”

You huffed, “Wow. You are…amazing. I love you.”

He smiled and it reached his eyes. “I love you, too and thank you. Thank you for everything.” He looked around, grateful that with the storm gone, clouds had dissipated and left a full moon to fill the kitchen with light. “I’m glad we’re here together.”

You hugged him. “Me, too.” You leaned back and sniffled. “Now, can we change clothes? It’s cold in here!”

He chuckled. “Sure.” He took your hand. “We can leave this wet stuff in the bathroom for now.”

You pulled your hand away. “Are you kidding? There’s got to be some robes down here somewhere or something.” You pointed toward the darkened living room. “I’m not going up those rickety stairs in pitch black, scary darkness.”

“Rickety?” He laughed. “You’re dramatic when you’re cold. I’ll go get us something.”

“Psh.” You waved your hands at him. “At your own risk, mister.”

He stepped across the moonlight and disappeared into the black. You stood shivering in the kitchen and then sighed, “Flashlights, duh.” You slipped around the table and started yanking open drawers, finally finding one in a drawer at the end of the counter. “No batteries,” you muttered.

A shadowed figure caught your eye just outside the door off the breakfast room and the hair raised on the back of your neck and along your arms. A person, cloaked in a dark hoodie was peering inside. You stepped back out of the moonlight and watched them. What do I do? Call Bucky? They’ll hear me. You trembled. They lifted a flashlight and shone it into the cabin and then banged on the door.

“Who’s that?” Bucky said from behind you.

You jumped. “Damn it, Bucky! You scared the crap out of me! I don’t know who it is! They just appeared out of nowhere.”

He stepped around you and laid the clothes he’d found on the table before walking up to the door. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, hey!” came a man’s voice. “I’m the caretaker.” He held up a shopping bag. “Batteries for the flashlights. When the lights went out, I remembered I hadn’t brought them, yet. Sorry about that.”

You put your hand over your heart and let out the breath you’d been holding. You walked up behind Bucky and held up the flashlight you’d found.

Bucky opened the door and took the bag. “Thanks.”

“You two need anything else? Lights should be back up soon now that the storm has passed.”

“We’re good, thanks,” said Bucky.

“Thank you for the batteries,” you finally managed, offering a smile.

“No problem.” He fished a business card out of his pocket. “Meant to leave this, too. If you need anything at all, give me a call.” Once Bucky took the card, he turned and started off. Pausing, he looked back. “Could you maybe not tell Mr. Stark about this?” He made a face and Bucky huffed out a laugh.

“We won’t say a word. Thanks again.”

With a nod, the man was gone. Bucky set the card on the table and handed you the bag with the batteries. He smirked at you.

“What?”

“You really are scared of the dark, aren’t you?”

You shivered and tried hugging yourself. “Well…”

“It’s nice to have something that I can help you with.” He took the bag and flashlight out of your hands and set them on the table. “There are a lot of good things about being in the dark, you know.”

You grinned. “Really now?”

“Uh huh.” He leaned in and placed a kiss on your lips. 


	32. Chapter 32

Over the next several days, you and Bucky had a wonderful time exploring the area. The waterfall you found proved _very_ special in the most intimate way.

In the evenings, you dressed up, lit candles, and had lovely dinners where you would talk endlessly about everything under the sun, with the exception of his missions. It was important to him that you not fall back into therapy sessions.

Some nights, the laughter bounced around like pinballs. Other nights, your discussions pierced your soul. You felt deeply connected in ways you never expected. Dr. B. was right. The two of you needed this time together.

By the end of the first week, you found you missed him, just when he was in another room. It scared you a little bit, feeling so tied up to another person. What if he got bored? What if his old demons came back around and he left? What if, now that he was recovering, the Avengers wanted him to fight again? And worst of all, what if he _wanted_ to keep fighting and was killed?

You stood outside, looking over the back patio with your favorite drink sloshing in the glass you held as you trembled at the thought of it all. The last scenario was the one that scared you the most, because it seemed like a real possibility. After all, there was a very good chance he’d be called to help at some point and that he would want to go for it. And since the Avengers didn’t take on ordinary villains, it didn’t bode well. The villains were often fantastical, other-worldly beings driven by power and Bucky was just a slightly enhanced soldier with a metal arm and some mad gun skills. He also held a deep need to serve, despite any fears he kept hidden away.

You heard Bucky approach, so you took a deep breath and let it out slowly, determined to still your nervous tremble.

“What’s the matter?”

_Too late_.

You tilted your head and tried smiling up at him. “Just thinking.”

Seeing traces of despair hidden in your eyes, he took your elbow and led you to a cushioned bench overlooking a valley on the side of the cabin. “And what exactly are you thinking about?”

You downed your drink and set the glass on the metal table nearby. You sat back and rested your hands in your lap. “You know, there’s one thing we’ve not talked about yet. I’m kinda surprised, to be honest.”

“What’s that?”

“The Avengers.”

He shrugged. “They’ve broken up, technically. Steve left his shield behind.”

You pursed your lips and narrowed your eyes. “Really, Bucky? C’mon. I know Steve has kept up his super hero-ing in secret.”

“It’s not the same anymore.”

“Would you fight, if they needed you?”

He let out an exasperated sigh, “Well, don’t beat around the bush there, [Name].”

You leaned forward, elbows on knees, arms dropped forward. “Would you?”

He looked out over the valley, his eyes steel gray. A breeze kicked up, blowing his hair off his shoulders. He was wearing blue jeans and a burgundy sweater against the chill of the early evening. The sun sat just above the trees off to the right, so he kept his focus to the left. After a few minutes, he looked back at you. “I don’t want to.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Well, it would depend on what they asked me to do.”

You sat back and nodded. “I thought so.”

“I mean, I would only do it, if it was something big.”

You looked away. “Yep. Aliens, spaceships, big bad villains…”

“You’re worried.”

You scoffed. “Of course, I am.”

He reached out and took your hand. “[Name], I’m not planning on doing any, uh, super hero-ing?” he chuckled, “anytime soon.”

You met his gaze. “I know you’re not looking for it. It’s just that,” you sighed, “things are so _good_ right now. This week has been the best week of my entire life and I don’t want it to change.”

He kissed your hand. “I feel the same way.”

You chewed on your lower lip. “What if I told you…I have a considerable amount of money saved and, if you wanted to, we could buy a little place in the middle of nowhere and just…” you held your hand out and extended your arm, “keep this going forever? Would you run away with me?”

“That sounds amazing but I don’t want you using your savings for – ”

“My future? That’s what I’ve been saving for. _You_ are my future.”

His eyes glossed over and he cleared his throat. “I, uh, wow.” He let out a breath and then nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

You perked up. “Really? You swear?”

He laughed. “I swear. Did you have someplace in mind?”

You glanced around. “This place would be nice, but I’d have to save for 436 more years to afford it.”

He smirked. “I hear you but you’re thinking a cabin? Wooded area? Lakes and streams?”

“And maybe a waterfall close by?” You raised your eyebrows a few times.

He laughed out loud. “Definitely.” He stood and pulled you into his arms.

As you held each other, the sun dipped below the horizon, sending pink and orange streaks across the sky. The air chilled and you agreed that you should head back inside.

After dinner, you fell into bed together. Passion won the night and then you drifted off into peaceful slumber.

\---

Several hours later, you woke with a start. Bucky wasn’t there and you wondered if a nightmare had chased him out of bed. You sat up and found him standing by the window in his pajama bottoms. His arms were folded and you could just see the outlines of his back muscles and his profile.

_Such a beautiful man_. “Hey, there,” you said. “You okay?”

“Mmm, yeah. Just thinking.”

You slid out of bed and tiptoed over to him. “What about?”

“What we talked about earlier.” He wrapped his arm around your waist. “Running away.”

“Still want to?” You returned his embrace.

He kissed your hair. “I do.”

“But?”

He clenched his jaw and reached into his pocket. He pulled his cell free and opened it with a slide of his finger. A text message glowed in the middle of the screen and he held the phone up to you.

You took it and read: _Hate to bother you but we need you. Call ASAP_. “So did you call him?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

“Not, yet.” He took the phone and stared at it.

“Sam wouldn’t contact you for no reason.”

“I know.” He took your hand with his metal one. “That’s what bothers me. Whatever it is…” he sighed, “it’s bad. I can feel it in my bones.”

“So call him then.”

He looked at you. “But our trip and…_extending_ our trip.” He dropped his phone back into his pocket and turned to face you. Resting his arms around your waist, he leaned against the narrow column between windows. “I want more than anything to run away with you.”

“That’s what I want, too, but I guess…I mean, we could still do that after – ”

“That’s not what bothers me, [Name].”

You tilted your head. “What is it then?”

He paused for a moment. “Well, if what I want more than anything is to just get a cabin and spend my life with you, why do I still feel like something is missing?”

You frowned. “It excited you…getting that message from Sam…being needed.” You pulled away and hugged yourself, as you turned your back to him. “Super hero-ing. It’s in your blood.”

“[Name],” he shuddered out a breath. “It’s not that I want to forever or anything. I just…”

You suddenly felt exposed, standing there in just a t-shirt and underwear. You walked over and picked up a robe, tugging it on, as you opened the bedroom door. “Call Sam, Bucky. It’s important.” With that you stepped out of the room and then nearly ran to the stairs. Your heart ached, a deep, piercing pain like nothing you’d ever felt before. You jogged down the stairs, the robe fluttering open as you went. When you reached the bottom, you pulled it around you and tied it, wiping at the tears that slid down your cheeks.

Upstairs, Bucky pressed his finger and thumb on the bridge of his nose and then looked at the open door. He knew exactly what you were feeling in that moment, that you weren’t enough for him. He had chosen his words so poorly.

Why did he feel drawn to the world of the Avengers? Was there some subconscious missing piece he wasn’t aware of? Was he trying to cover past wrongs? “All great questions for my therapist except I all but fired her days ago.” He shook his head. “Promoted her to full-time girlfriend, would be the best way to put it, actually.” He sighed, “I could call Dr. Bachman…” He heard glass clinking downstairs and he looked at the door again. “Damn, Barnes. Fix that _first_.”

He started toward the door and his phone buzzed in his pocket. He clenched his jaw and retrieved it. “Hello?”

“Bucky? Did you get my text?”

“I just, uh, just did. What’s going on?”

“Steve and Sharon are missing.”


	33. Chapter 33

“What? What do you mean they’re missing? They’re in Brazil, right?”

“They were, last we heard from them.”

Bucky sat on the corner of the bed, his metal hand in his hair. “Tell me everything.”

Sam sighed and Bucky could hear papers shuffling in the background. “Three days ago, they were seen at a restaurant in São Paulo. Yesterday afternoon, the caretaker of the hillside home they were staying in went by to see if they needed anything, and…” Sam let out a breath.

“Sam? And?”

“The place was torn up. Glass broken, clothes and other stuff strewn everywhere, blood splatter…”

“What in the hell? And the police? What did they have to say?”

“They have no clue, apparently.”

“That’s ridiculous! There was blood? They _have_ to know something.” Bucky rolled his lips. “Have there been any problems in the area?”

“There were some uprisings, protests in recent days and a major battle between gangs but Bucky? No one but us knew Steve and Sharon were staying in that villa. It’s in the middle of nowhere surrounded by a massive wall. You need a passcode to get through a ten-foot iron gate.”

Bucky leaned forward and covered his face. He sucked in a breath and whispered, “Then it sounds like I’m going to Brazil.”

“I can have a Quinjet there in half an hour. What about [Name]?”

Bucky dropped his head. “I…I don’t know. I don’t want to just leave her here alone.”

“I’m going with you,” you said, hands on your hips.

Bucky jerked his head up, mouth open.

Sam continued in Bucky’s ear. “I could have another Quinjet there to pick her up right after yours, bring her back to Wakanda.”

Bucky pulled his attention away from the look on your face and muttered, “Uh, yeah. That…that sounds like a plan. Thanks, Sam. We’ll talk more when the jet gets here.” He hung up and shook his head. “[Name], Sam is going to have a plane come for you. You can go back to Wakanda. You’ll be safe there.”

You huffed out a laugh. “I’m going to Brazil with you. Something happened with Steve and Sharon, right?”

“Right but you can’t go.”

“Hell, I can’t! He’s still my patient! If something went wrong, something bad, he might just need his therapist. I’m going.”

Bucky stood then and walked toward you. “I know you’re upset. I know you think you’re not enough for me…that I need some kind of…_validation_ by being a superhero, but [Name], someone kidnapped Steve and Sharon. There was blood there. It was a mess. It’s not safe!”

“How dare you. This isn’t about _you_. How dare you think that I have anything but Steve and Sharon’s best interests at heart!” You pointed at your chest several times as you continued, your voice wavering with tears, “I may not be able to help find them or fight for them, but if you think I’m not going to be there for them after what can only be an earth-shattering experience, you’ve got another thing coming!”

“You’re going back to Wakanda. We’ll find them and bring them there and you can counsel them then.” His voice was low, angry.

“Did you not hear what I just said?”

“You’re mad at me.” He met your gaze. “I can read you. Did you forget that? This has everything to do with me.”

Your eyes filled with tears and spilled down your cheeks. “Well, then read this,” you whispered, “I can’t go back to Wakanda and just sit there, when you’re in danger.” You stared into his steel blue eyes. “I need to do this just as much as you do. I’m going.”

He pulled his hand down his face and sucked in a breath. “[Name], if it were any other situation…but this is Steve. He’s my _brother_. I can’t _not_ go and I can’t go, if you’re going to insist on being there. You’ll be a distraction.”

“A distraction?” You shook your head. “Wow. Everything we’ve been through, this entire journey and suddenly I’m a distraction?”

Bucky’s eyes were like blue flames. “I don’t have time to argue with you. You can stay here or go back to Wakanda.”

“Whatever, Bucky.” You slipped past him and over to the dresser, yanking open one of the drawers you’d put your clothes in. You pulled out black cargo pants and a long-sleeved black shirt, two items you never thought you’d wear here. Intuition alone had compelled you to pack them. You pulled open another drawer and chose a pair of black socks. All that was left was your hiking boots and black leather jacket. You turned and found Bucky standing, arms crossed, staring at you.

“Please don’t do this,” he said.

You rolled your eyes and stepped into the bathroom, slamming the door shut.

Seconds later, Bucky tapped at the door. “[Name], you don’t have to prove anything.”

“Neither do you,” you called through the door.

“So you don’t think I should go? Steve and Sharon are missing and what, I’m supposed to grab my camera and go take more pictures of that waterfall?”

“Ha! That’s not what I meant and you know it!”

“What then?”

“I thought you could read me so well.”

“Not when you’re like this!” He slammed a fist against the doorjamb.

You swung the door open and glared up at him. “What was that? Am I being unreasonable?”

“Unreasonable, stubborn, foolish…”

“Oh, I see!” You slapped your forehead. “How could a therapist possibly travel to another location to help someone who might be in danger? What in the world am I thinking? I might get hurt! Someone might attack me and put me in the hospital! Well, thank God, I have some experience with that!” You pushed past him and jogged over to the closet to grab up your boots. You were shaking. Pain seared through you. Tears crawled to the surface, pressing against your eyes and nose. What had you just said? Why were you being so horrible?

_Fear._

“Congratulations, [Name]. You win.” Bucky swept up a suitcase and in less than a minute, everything he’d brought was tossed inside in a shambles, except for what he yanked on to wear.

You were crouched down in the closet, your fingers slipped inside the tops of your boots. You couldn’t move, even when he’d hovered over you, pulling clothes from hangers, even when he brushed up against you to claim his own pair of boots. _He has no plans to come back. Congratulations, indeed. All your worst-case scenarios crammed into one._

When he left the room and tromped down the stairs, you sat back, curled into a ball, and began to weep. A few minutes passed in silence before you wiped at your tears and pushed off the floor. You grabbed your boots and walked over to the bed to pull them on. You then let out a slow breath and stood.

You took the steps as quietly as possible, finding Bucky sitting on the couch, phone in his hand. He shifted a bit when one of the stairs creaked but he didn’t look up at you.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured.

“It’s fine. I understand.”

“Bucky…” You walked over and sat down on the couch next to him. “I _am_ angry or I _was_. I’m scared and I _did_…I did feel like you were saying that being with me wasn’t satisfying enough, that you needed more and _it_ _hurt_. It shouldn’t have – we’re not one-dimensional…”

“I worded that wrong before.”

“Mm. Well, I just said a lot of things I didn’t mean, things I shouldn’t have said, so…” You tilted your head and he finally met your gaze. “I think I’m going to stay here.” You looked around and gave a faint smile. “It’s nice…peaceful. Maybe I’ll take my camera back over to that waterfall.”

He winced. “I shouldn’t have said that. I was angry, too.”

“Anger doesn’t usually bring out the best in people. You know the root of anger?” You covered his hand with yours. “_Fear_. We were – _are_– both afraid for each other, for Steve and Sharon.” You looked across the living room to the fireplace. “I’m absolutely terrified.” When you met his gaze again, you rolled your lips and whispered, “I _want_ you to go find them, rescue them. When I get word that you are all safe, I’ll meet you in Wakanda, ready to do what I can.”

He shifted, setting his phone on the coffee table, so he could take both of your hands in his. “I will do whatever it takes to get to them,” he paused to give your hands a squeeze, “and get back to you.”

You nodded, tears pricking your eyes. “Okay.” You both let out a breath and sat back. “So what in the hell happened in Brazil?”

“No one knows, except that the place they were staying was wrecked, glass broken all over, blood…”

You shivered. “It could be anyone. The Avengers have so many enemies these days.”

“There are a few left in HYDRA.”

“If it were HYDRA, I think they’d have come for you.”

“I guess, unless they couldn’t find me. Steve and Sharon were spotted at a restaurant a few days ago.”

You frowned. “Oh.” Swallowing away the lump in your throat, you whispered, “They’re a…alive, right? They have to be.”

He put his arm around you and kissed your hair. “That’s the only option…the _only_ one.”

A loud rumbling came from overhead and you peered out the front window to find a large shadow settling down in the lawn on the other side of your rental car. Lights from the jet dimmed and Bucky’s phone rang. He talked to Sam for a few seconds and then ended the call. He stood and pulled you up to him. “I’ll keep in touch. Don’t worry. Everything will be okay.”

You huffed. “Sure, uh, yeah.” You looked out at the Quinjet and then to him. “Watch your back.”

“Will do.” He held his phone up and smiled. “Oh, and don’t worry about the second jet. I already cancelled it with Sam.”

Your mouth dropped open. _He wasn’t going to stop me from going_. “Thank you.”

He kissed you and then grabbed his suitcase and jogged to the door. Clint met him, just as he opened it and looked past him to you. “She going?”

“No. She’s staying here until I get word that we’ve got them.”

Clint put his hand on his chest and sighed, “Good. Nat’s on board.”

“What about Tony? Rhodey?”

Clint shook his head. “They, uh, won’t be joining us. T’Challa is holding down the fort in Wakanda but he and Sam are ready to fly, if we need them. It’s a covert mission, so I think we’ve got the best team.”

Both men took off toward the jet and you jogged to the door to watch them go. When the jet was out of sight, you slowly shut the door and leaned against it. “Please let them find Steve and Sharon and send all of them home safe.” Tears rolled down your cheeks and you suddenly felt very, very tired.


	34. Chapter 34

Hours later, you jumped and sucked in a breath, waking on the couch in a mangled position. Your eyes were still puffy and crusted with dried tears. You stumbled into the kitchen and washed your face with cool water. You dried it with a towel and then looked through the breakfast room window outside.

A bright yellow bird with black wings danced around on a leafy green bush, flitting from one branch to the next. You chewed on your lower lip and then decided to pull a chair up near the window to watch. Two others joined it, a tiny bright blue bird and a dusty brown one. You sat with one leg folded beneath you and let your thoughts drift.

Your body ached and you were exhausted but all you could think about was what might be happening in Brazil. You’d received one text from Bucky, so far, letting you know they’d arrived and that he would let you know as soon as he had good news.

You’d held your phone close to you all the rest of the night, the volume set on ‘high.’ Your sleep had been fitful but that was no real surprise. Steve and Sharon were out there somewhere with only God knew who and in what condition. The love of your life and a group of those you’d come to know and adore were searching for them. Literally anything could happen. Anything.

And stupidly, your mind fell to the fact that you and Bucky had had your first real couple’s argument. Ugly, cruel words had been fired at each other, landing several deafening blows. No doubt you were both sincerely sorry but the fight stuck to you, like gooey, clingy flypaper, unwilling to let you breathe easy.

“Stop thinking about the fight, [Name]! It doesn’t matter right now!” You curled your fists in frustration and pushed out of the chair. You needed a shower, a hot one, and maybe, you’d hear from Bucky soon.

You shuffled up the stairs, ignoring the rumbling in your stomach. Shower. Then eat. _Maybe_.

\---

You leaned with one hand on the sink and combed through your wet hair. You were still in the white towel you’d used to dry off, tucked tightly into your cleavage. Every so often, you glanced at your phone. No word from Bucky and it’d been almost eight hours since he’d left. _If I could just hear something, anything!_

Your phone buzzed and you dropped the comb into the sink, snatching the phone up in one swoop. “Hello? Sam? What’s going on?”

“I thought I’d check on you. I was surprised you didn’t go to Brazil. Bucky said you were going.”

“I planned on it. He didn’t want me to.”

“And you didn’t want to come back here?”

You frowned. “It’s peaceful here at the cabin. I thought…” you sighed, “I thought it might be nice…”

“I understand.” A pause. “Listen. I haven’t heard from them and I’m guessing by your questions, you haven’t either?”

You felt an aching in your chest. “N…no, I haven’t heard anything since the text letting me know they’d arrived.”

Silence.

“I…I’m heading over there. I can’t just sit here and wait around. I should’ve gone from the start,” he said.

“Is T’Challa going?”

“Yeah. We’re both hitting the pavement in about 20 minutes.”

“That’s good. I…I think that’s a good idea.” You blinked back tears.

“You gonna be all right?”

“Me? Sure. Don’t worry about the therapist. I have years of study to talk me down off the ledge.”

“[Name],” Sam sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Sam, I’m the one who’s sorry. The last thing any of you need is to worry about me. Please, just go. Find them and get Steve and Sharon back. If you need anything, please let me know.”

“Will do.” A pause. “Talk soon?”

“Sounds good to me. Keep in touch.”

“All right. Bye, [Name].”

“Bye, Sam.”

You hung up the phone and set it down on the edge of the sink. You finished combing your hair and dressed, deciding a cup of coffee and sitting outside might be a good idea.

Fifteen minutes later, you sat curled up in a chair overlooking the valley. Your phone rested on the arm of the chair and you held a large mug of coffee in your hands. You thought about your time with Bucky so far, from the day you officially met until you watched him climb on that Quinjet.

You put it out of your mind to run away, to hide in some cabin somewhere and live in a manufactured bliss. You were a psychologist, who still, you might add, wanted to upgrade to psychiatrist at some point and that would take a hefty amount of schooling.

Bucky was still a superhero. Asking him to put it all away and do what? Woodworking? Needlepoint?

You scoffed, “Ridiculous.”

It was time to let Bucky be who he was meant to be. As long as he wanted to be a part of the team, to fight the good fight, you would support him. It might mean a lot of time praying and worrying but so be it. You loved him more than you ever thought possible and you wanted him to be happy.

You let out a long breath and relaxed, smiling. Things were going to work out. All you needed was to hear from Bucky, that Steve and Sharon were all right, that the team was safe, and won’t you meet him in Wakanda right away.

A loud bang sounded, making you jump. You shifted in your chair, looking over your shoulder through the windows into the cabin.

\---

Four days later:

Bucky tiptoed down the alley, Natasha and Clint close behind. When he reached the rusted door blackened by dirt and grime, he motioned for them to come around him. They settled in their places and he yanked the door open, machine gun at the ready.

Silence.

He stepped inside, his eyes casing every corner, sweeping back and forth. A man jumped out from another room, shooting. Bucky took him out with one clean shot. A dozen or so more came pouring out from rooms and around corners. Nat and Clint took over, leaving Bucky to run forward. According to sources, Steve and Sharon were being kept in a large room at the back of the building.

A few more men appeared and Bucky took them down, unceremoniously. Up ahead, he spotted a door marked in Portuguese as the warehouse. He lowered his left shoulder and slammed through it. Metal against metal rattled windows and when the dust settled, he found himself face-to-face with Steve Rogers.

Large metal “cuffs” held Steve’s arms in place. His mouth was wrapped closed with duct tape. He was tied to a metal chair. Bucky walked forward, reaching out to remove the duct tape. A click sounded behind him and he stiffened.

“I had a feeling you’d come,” a heavily Russian accent met his ears. “How convenient.”

Bucky turned, his face frozen in an angry scowl. “HYDRA, I presume?”

The man shrugged. “HYDRA is a dying organization.”

“I thought if you cut off one head, two would take its – ”

“Shut up!” the man shouted.

Bucky smirked. “So this is where you’re going to die, then?”

The man held his handgun in place, pointed at Bucky’s head. He grunted out a laugh and lifted a small book in his other hand. It was held open. He glanced down at it for a moment and then began in Russian, **Ř **“Longing…”

Bucky blinked.

“Rusted…Furnace…”

“S…stop it,” Bucky stammered.

The man grinned and looked down again, “Daybreak…Seventeen…”

“No! Please!” Bucky stumbled forward.

The man didn’t move. “Benign…Nine…Homecoming…”

“No!” Bucky’s assault rifle clattered to the floor. He fell to his knees in front of the man.

“One…Freight car…”

Bucky’s head dropped. The man leaned forward. **Ř **“Ready to comply?”

Bucky reached up and in one quick jerk, grabbed the man’s handgun. The man fell back and Bucky stood, pointing the gun at the man’s head. “Yeah. Those words don’t work on me anymore.” Before the man could speak, Bucky pulled the trigger.

Seconds later, Nat and Clint came running into the room. Nat glanced down at the man and then ran over to Steve. She removed the duct tape and whispered, “Sharon?”

Steve cleared his throat. “Small room, back there.” He nodded behind him and Nat took off running.

Bucky walked over to Steve and crouched down. “What in the hell are these?” He tapped the huge metal cuffs.

“It’s good to see you, Buck.” He waited until Bucky looked at him and managed a smile. “You had me fooled.”

“[Name],” Bucky paused, feeling a bit emotional, “she’s great at her job.”

Clint, who’d been examining pockets on the dead man, walked up, holding a key. “This should take care of those.”

Another several minutes ticked by and the five of them stumbled out of the warehouse and down hallways, stepping over dead bodies along the way. Bucky held Steve steady, while Nat and Clint helped Sharon along.

When they reached the outside, they were surprised to find Sam and T’Challa waiting.

“Your jeep is compromised,” Sam stated. “Come with us.”

“I…didn’t know you were coming?” Bucky said, a smile lighting his face.

“Couldn’t just sit around…” He moved to the other side of Steve. “Let’s go.”

T’Challa led them, ready to defend, if necessary. They made it to the new vehicle, a large SUV. They all scrambled inside and Bucky’s first thought was to call you.

The call went straight to voicemail. “Hey, I’m a bit, uh, surprised you didn’t answer. Just wanted to let you know, it was a cakewalk. We found Steve and Sharon and we’re on our way to Wakanda.” He looked at Sam who nodded, knowingly. “We’ll have a Quinjet sent to you, so you can meet us there. I love you.”

He ended the call and sat back in the seat. He was so relieved that everything had gone so well. When they’d arrived in Brazil, Nat used her skills as a spy and interrogator to find out that “two blondes” were seen being hustled into a crime-laden area of Rio just the day before. After that, it hadn’t taken long to figure out where. The only thing they hadn’t known was _who_ exactly had kidnapped them or how.

The man from HYDRA had answered the first. Bucky glanced at Steve. The second answer could come later, when Steve and Sharon had rested and felt safe again. Bucky couldn’t imagine that either of them had been taken easily. They were both amazing fighters. It must’ve been an onslaught, like ants on their mound, surrounding the place. He shook his head. It didn’t matter, ultimately. As long as he kept his promise to you, that they all return safe.

A thirty minute drive and they were back at the Quinjets.

“I can go with you, man,” Sam offered.

“If it’s all the same with you, I think I’ll pick her up alone.” Bucky grinned at his friend and nodded behind Sam to Steve and Sharon. “Get them taken care of and we’ll be in Wakanda soon.”

“Soon? Uh huh.” Sam smirked and then shook Bucky’s hand. “Stay safe.”

Bucky double checked on Steve and Sharon once more for good measure and then climbed aboard one of the Quinjets alone. He’d long since learned how to pilot them and it would be nice to show up and surprise you.

\---

Bucky buckled into his seat, set the course for the cabin in Spain, and then waited. Seeing the other Quinjet lift off without trouble, he breathed a sigh of relief and followed suit. Once the jet was settled above the water, he sent you a couple of texts.

**Give me a call, when you get this.**

**Love you.**

He waited, another ten minutes, and then tried calling. Straight to voicemail.

“[Name], I hope you’re not answering because you’re getting some rest or maybe you’ve gone off to that waterfall again. I confiscated one of the Quinjets and am on my way to pick you up myself. Can’t wait to see you. I’ve missed you more than you know. Maybe when all things are settled in Wakanda, we can go back to that cabin and finish our trip.” He sighed. “Anyway, call me as soon as you can, although I should be there in an hour.” He ended the call and then tried to relax.

It’d be dark by the time he reached the cabin, but not late. Maybe he would hold off heading for Wakanda to at least share one more dinner with you there. He leaned back and closed his eyes, picturing your face. It hadn’t even been a week and he felt like it’d been years since he’d seen you.

“One more hour,” he whispered, “and then a lifetime.”

He dozed off, the alert that he’d reached his destination beeping him awake. He jumped a bit and then smiled, as the jet hovered over a flat piece of land in front of the cabin. He eased the jet to the grass and turned it off. He nearly leapt from his chair and jogged down the ramp outside.

The cabin was dark and he frowned. He couldn’t imagine you being asleep already. He walked across the gravel drive and past the rental car. Up ahead, he noticed something that made him stop in his tracks.

The front door was splintered, barely hanging on its hinges. 


	35. Chapter 35

Bucky cursed and took off running, pushing what was left of the door open and calling out your name. His heart thumped, as blood rushed in his ears, making it hard for him to focus. All his years hunting for people and working missions…the last few years, joining the Avengers, being on the good side again… nothing had prepared him for this. He was in full panic mode.

The cabin was chaotic, a clear struggle had taken place there. Chairs were toppled and shattered glass sparkled on the floor in the moonlight. He took the stairs in twos. Your boots were gone and your jacket. Both drawers on the bedside tables were open. He frowned. You had searched for his gun. _I left her completely vulnerable_.

He leapt back down the stairs and continued his investigation. He needed to find out as much as he could about what happened, so he’d know what to do next. He was also having a hard time grasping that you’d been kidnapped by HYDRA right out from under him.

He walked toward the back of the cabin. One of the sliding doors was gone, broken in a thousand pieces. A large coffee mug lay on the ground outside, the handle broken off and coffee spilled next to it. They’d definitely ambushed you. Your phone was next to the mug. He picked it up, finding the screen cover cracked. He tucked it into his pocket and sighed.

Running his hands through his hair, he looked out over the valley below. There was no doubt in his mind that HYDRA had done this. They’d lured him away to make an easy rescue in Brazil so they could get to you. Why? Were they planning on using you to get him back? How did they know you’d stay behind? Guilt coursed through him. If only he would’ve agreed that you should go with him. _It might’ve been unsafe but she would’ve been by my side._

He stomped back inside and something caught his eye. A fire poker lay on the ground, something wet and sticky covered it from the pointed end up to the middle of the post. He swallowed and reached out to pick it up with his metal hand. _Blood_. Nearby a stain of blood was on the ground and a few swipes more of it, as if someone had fallen and pushed themselves up. Were those your blood stains? He trembled.

“I’ll find you, whatever it takes.”

\---

_Four Days Ago:_

_A loud bang sounded, making you jump. You shifted in your chair, looking over your shoulder through the windows into the cabin._

_Three men in black jackets and cargo pants rushed inside. You leapt from your chair, knocking your phone and coffee mug to the ground. You took a fierce left toward the edge of the deck and took the three foot jump to the dirt below. Catching your breath, you ran toward a storage shed, hiding behind it._

_You listened, hearing glass breaking and hissed curses. “Target is on the run!”_

_It wouldn’t be long until they found you. You couldn’t just stand there. You spotted a row of bushes and made a run for them._

_“There she is!”_

_Bullets pinged behind you but you kept going. You needed to get back in the house. Bucky had left a handgun up in the bedroom, in one of the bedside tables. If you could get to it, you might have a fighting chance._

_You slipped through the splintered door and started toward the stairs. A man jumped out from behind the wall in the kitchen and grabbed your arm. You cried out in pain but managed to reach for the fire poker. Swinging it, you landed a blow to his head. When he crumpled in a heap, you froze from shock._

_Another man came barreling through the broken glass door, machine gun pointed at you. You ducked and spun around, adrenaline pushing you forward. You swung once and missed him. When he grabbed your hair, you cried out and then pulled the poker back and shoved it forward. It landed in his gut, piercing through him. You yanked it back out, almost fainting at the sound of tearing flesh. He choked out a cough and collapsed._

_The distinct sound of a ‘click’ behind you and you held your hands up, poker still clutched in your right. You turned slowly and looked at the man._

_“Drop it!” he screamed, stepping toward you. “Drop it, right now!”_

_“O – kay. Just be calm.” You bent forward, in motion to set it on the floor. When he took another step, you leapt up from a crouching position, hitting the man’s arm and knocking his handgun to the floor. He looked at you in shock and you swung the poker, hitting him upside the temple._

_He went to his knees, clutching his head, and then fell forward. You ran toward the stairs and up into the bedroom. You pilfered through both bedside tables, cursing, when you realized Bucky must’ve taken his gun. You ran to the closet and shoved your feet into your boots and grabbed a coat._

_Stepping slowly out into the hall, you listened for the sounds of them moving._

_Nothing._

_You trembled as you took the stairs. There was no way you were going to try and get the gun from the man you’d stabbed with the poker. Nausea rose at the thought of it, but you carefully stepped over to the last one and pushed his body enough to reach under him. You just felt the handle when he grabbed your right arm and glared up at you. You screamed and, out of instinct, used your left elbow to jab his temple. He cried out and dropped. You tried again to reach the gun, but you were shaking too much and feeling weak. You hadn’t eaten in close to 12 hours._

_You backed up and tied your boots in loose knots before running to the kitchen and grabbing a box of crackers. You could hear movement behind you in the living room. Where were your car keys again? You couldn’t think!_

_You stepped out into the living space just as the man closest to the front door began to stir. You had one choice and made a run for it to the back door._

_“You stupid bitch! I’ll get you!” you heard him scream._

_You took a hard right and sprinted toward the trail that lead to all the wonderful places you and Bucky had seen over the past week. You had no idea where you would go. All that mattered was surviving until Bucky could find you._

\---

“I’m telling you, Sam, she’s gone!” Bucky shouted, after having answered what felt like a million questions.

“All right. All right. I believe you. What can we do?”

“Get Romanoff on a computer. See if we can find any intel. I need a _location_.” Bucky paced back and forth in the living room. When he turned to continue his journey, he looked out through a front window. The moon hit something hidden in an overgrowth of bushes. Sam was talking to Natasha, when Bucky whispered, “Hold on.”

He stepped outside, his phone to his ear but his eyes darting all around. He made a direct line to the overgrowth and his breath caught. “What the hell?” he muttered. “Sam…new plan.”

“What? What’s going on?”

“HYDRA’s still here.” He looked out over the land, his eyes landing on a trail to the right. He let out a rush of air. “She got away.”

“Buck,” a breathless voice chimed in, “It’s Steve. Are you saying they _didn’t_ get her?”

“Their getaway car is still here, hidden in some bushes.” He peered inside. “There’s a body…” he broke the passenger window with ease, “a man’s.” He huffed out a laugh. “She got one.”

“Badass,” Natasha said.

“So she ran?” Sam asked. “She could be anywhere. Putting you on speaker.”

Bucky frowned. “There’s one trail but it leads to at least a dozen different places.” He jogged back up the ramp and into the Quinjet. With the phone still to his ear, he collected two handguns, an assault rifle with a scope, two knives, and plenty of ammunition. He found his gear in a box mixed with the rest of the team’s stuff. Rifling around, he collected all he needed. “Hold on.” A quick change and he was ready for battle. He picked his phone back up and spoke through clenched teeth, “Listen, I’m going to find her, but I need you all to head out here.” He took a long breath to ease out his next words, “The car was small. They didn’t bring very many and have lost one. I’m not sure how long she’s been running, but based on that body, it’s been a few days, at the very least. If they haven’t found her yet, as it seems the case, they’ll likely call for backup.”

“Especially now that they know you’re not looking for us anymore,” Sharon said.

“They’ll be expecting you,” Steve sighed.

“Then get here and help.” Bucky dropped his head. “I know you were hoping for time to recoup…”

“We’re on our way,” Steve said.

“Absolutely,” Sharon agreed.

Bucky let a breath out through his nose. “Thanks.” He exited the Quinjet and headed for the storage shed. “There’s a motorcycle in a shed here. I’m going to see if it’s running. It’ll be loud but I’ll make better time.”

“Barnes, we’re leaving now,” Natasha said.

“We’ve got your back,” Clint added. “Don’t worry. She’s a fighter.”

Bucky thought about the blood stain, the bloodied poker and nodded. “Yeah, she is.”

He ended the call without another word and made his way to the shed. A motorcycle, a bit rusted but in generally good shape, was shoved into a corner. The key was in the ignition and he sighed with relief. “Just…have gas and start. It’s all I ask.” He rolled it from the corner and climbed onto the seat. Turning the key, it roared to life. “Yes!” He steered it out of the shed and headed straight for the trail. “Hang in, [Name], I’m coming.”

\---

You sat in the alcove, back pressed against rock. The alcove was a treasure you’d found the day before, hidden beneath an overgrowth of grass and bushes with barely any dirt nearby to capture your footfalls. You’d had to scoot on your stomach across stickered grass to get to it and still leave the overhead covering undisturbed, but it was worth it.

Having been on the run for the last four days left you weak. You stared at the last three crackers of the last sleeve from the box and your stomach grumbled. You wouldn’t make it much longer. The worst wasn’t the food but the inability to get a satisfying amount of water to keep your body well-hydrated. And crackers? Salted crackers? What in the hell had you been thinking? You frowned, wanting to cry but finding no tears available.

You’d made it to the waterfall in the first day and gulped at the cool, refreshing stream before a bullet had zinged past you, bouncing off a rock. After that, they lingered close to the waterfall and any rivers or streams along the way, as they traced your footprints in the soil. You’d only managed a few gulps here and there since.

You’d been up in trees, hiding in tall grass, and crouching down in ditches next to the trail. You’d spent nights curled up in the coat you’d brought, doing everything you could to stay warm and keep breathing.

On day two, a helicopter had hovered over the land, releasing what seemed like another two dozen or so HYDRA agents. How you’d managed to stay ahead of them, you had no idea.

There were times when you thought of surrendering. After all, what if they’d caught Bucky, too? What if they’d caught the whole team? What hope did you have? You closed your eyes. Maybe if you could just rest…just for a few minutes.

\---

“Bucky, you read me?” Natasha asked.

“I read you.”

“There’s something you should know. They’ve already sent backup, 25 more. You’re looking at 27 confirmed HYDRA agents searching for her. They haven’t found her yet.”

Bucky let out a sigh of relief at the last bit of information and pushed his foot on the pedal. “How far out are you?”

“We’re about five minutes away.”

“Good. Ping my location when you get here.”

“Done.”

The waterfall was less than a half a mile off. He wanted to look there first.

\---

You could hear the distinct sound of footsteps nearby and your eyes popped open.

“The footprints ended back over there! I say she ran southwest. Look at the map. There’s a bend in the river. She’s got to be desperate for water.”

Another man grunted. “Fine.” He turned and followed the first away from your hiding place.

You let out a shaky breath and pulled your knees up to rest your head on them. _I don’t know what to do, Bucky. What would you do? You’d fight._ A sob reached your throat. _I can’t fight, not anymore._

Gunfire rang out in the distance, followed by shouting. You clutched your legs to you. Something you weren’t expecting filtered to your ears. The sound of a motor rumbling. It escalated and you realized it was a motorcycle. More gunfire followed and within minutes, the sound you’d know anywhere – the low growl of a Quinjet.

More indistinguishable shouts and gunfire followed. You were sure now. Someone was there to rescue you. Your heart thumped and you trembled.

“Sam! Head them off there and I’ll meet you!”

_Dear Lord! That’s Steve!_ You covered your mouth, crying without tears. And he’d said, “Sam.” Sam was there, too!

“There’s three that way!” Bucky shouted.

You nearly leapt from your hiding place, but decided to crouch lower until the coast was clear. Gunfire zipped through the air above you. Bucky – your Bucky – was there! You couldn’t wait to see him.

As the voices came closer, you ticked off your rescuers. _T’Challa, Natasha, Sharon_…an arrow landed near your hideout. _Clint_.

“Is that it?” Sam huffed.

“I got three,” said Nat.

“Two here!” Sharon offered.

“Six between me and Steve,” Sam said.

“I got three,” Clint sighed.

“I took out three, as well,” T’Challa said.

Footsteps approached, about twenty feet away from where you sat curled into a ball. “I counted ten.”

“Well, uh, that’s all 27 of them then,” Nat said.

All of them? You tried pushing up but couldn’t find the strength. Despite the adrenaline that now coursed through your veins, you were unable to stand. Leaning forward, you opened your mouth to speak but you had no voice. Your throat was as dry as a desert.

“Let’s find her,” Bucky said. “[Name]? Where are you? It’s okay. You’re safe!”

The others called out your name, too, and you tried to speak again. Nothing. Bucky was walking away. You set your jaw and pushed yourself forward, falling to your stomach. You put your boots against the rock and pushed with everything in you. “B…Bucky,” you croaked. Reaching out, you took hold of one of the larger branches of a bush and shook it.

Bucky stopped in his tracks and turned just in time to see the leaves rattle. “Over here!” he called out. “Please don’t be some damn forest animal,” he whispered. He went to his knees and pulled out a knife, cutting at the overgrowth. “[Name]? Is that you?” He cut a large piece away and saw you. “[Name]!”

The rest of the team ran over to the spot just as Bucky pushed the rest of the overgrowth away and pulled you free, holding you in his arms.

You were filthy from head-to-toe and clearly lighter than you had been back when he left. “Water!” he shouted, blinking back tears. “Someone get her some water!”

Sharon stepped up, canteen in hand. She put it to your lips and whispered, “Easy now.”

The relief that filtered through the group was palpable. You were weak but alive. You’d fought against HYDRA and kept yourself hidden from them for four days. A miracle.

\---

You lay in your hospital bed in Wakanda, an IV hydrating your deprived body. You were clean and resting. Bucky sat next to you, his hand over yours, as you slept.

He thought about your offer before, running away together to a cabin, and he wondered if you’d ever be safe, being connected to the Winter Soldier. Would there be a place you couldn’t be found? It made him ache. He dropped his head and watched you.

You opened your eyes and smiled. “Bucky,” you whispered, your throat still a bit sore from being so dried out.

He leaned in and kissed your forehead. “How’re you feeling?”

“I feel great, actually…uh, relieved, happy. You found me. You saved me.” You lifted the arm with the IV in it. “This is working wonders.”

He let out a relieved laugh. “I’m glad. I…I thought they had you.”

“They very nearly did, uh, several times.”

“I’m so sorry, [Name]. That’s on me. I shouldn’t have left you alone. I should’ve known they had a bigger plan.”

“Bucky, stop. I’m the psychologist, remember? I’m supposed to be able to read people and their ulterior motives. I didn’t see them coming after me. You and Steve are much bigger targets.”

He shrugged. “It’s still on me.”

“No. It’s on _them_.” You wrinkled your brow and smirked. “Have you learned nothing from our sessions? We don’t blame victims around here. HYDRA is an evil organization. _They_ are the ones to blame.”

He looked out the window, his eyes a cold gray. “And when they come after you again because of me?”

“Bucky,” you sighed. When he didn’t look back at you, you pushed yourself up and covered his hand with your free one. “Didn’t you tell me on the way back here that you played one of them for a fool, pretending the words affected you when they didn’t?”

A small smile formed on his lips. “Fooled Steve for a second, too.”

You caressed his hand. “Then you need to trust yourself. Even if, by dumb luck – because let’s face it, they couldn’t even catch the wimpy psychologist in the forest…”

He laughed and finally looked back at you. “You’re a lot of things, but wimpy is not one of them.”

You shook your head and chuckled. “Even so,” you continued, “if by dumb luck they got you, you are stronger than you’ve ever been. The likelihood that they would be able to break through your therapy and instill words again is extremely small. And honestly? I don’t see how they’re ever going to find you again. I do think we should probably stay here for a while, though.”

“I agree. The team and I can work missions from here and maybe just obliterate HYDRA completely this time.”

“I have no doubt you will do just that.”

He sighed and dropped his head. “You know, I was going to say that maybe it would be better for you, if you weren’t connected to me anymore – that I am putting you in danger just by being around you.” He flipped his hand and held onto yours. “I thought it’d be better if we broke u– ”

“Bucky!” you gasped.

“Hold on. I said I was _going_ to…” he looked at you and smiled, “but I’m not now. I think we’re better…_safer_…together.”

You sat back and let out a breath. “Don’t scare me like that. Of course, we are better together and I wouldn’t let you leave me anyway.”

He laughed, a great shoulder-shaking one. “Best words I’ve ever heard.”

You leaned forward and kissed him. “Better than ‘I love you’?”

He returned your kiss and smiled against your lips. “A close second.” He searched your face. “And I love you, too.”


End file.
